


A Tale of Two Fathers (or The Parent Inception)

by SamanthaStephens



Category: Inception (2010), The Parent Trap (1961)
Genre: Arthur and Eames are divorced, Arthur and Eames are parents, M/M, Twin Switch, parent trap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1392451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaStephens/pseuds/SamanthaStephens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Parent Trap, Inception-style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Arthur and Eames are the divorced parents about to be trapped. The kids are younger than in the film, because it just worked better to make them 12. It jumps in after their twin sons have already figured it out, because, let's face it, we all know this story and want to get to the part with the actual parents in it, since they're the characters we actually know. 
> 
> Oh and it'll be obvious straight off, but I wanted to make it clear in the notes that Arthur and Eames are not parents through some kind of mpreg situation. The boys are biologically Arthur's sons, born to a surrogate mother.
> 
> The prologue and first two chapters are from the POVs of the kids. The final chapters will be from Eames' and Arthur's perspectives. As such, the beginning is pretty PG-13, just some swearing, but the final chapter has some grownup fun in it. And then it's back to the kids for the epilogue

**Hugh**

"Holeeee shit!" Forrest says, grinning at their combined reflections in the mirror. 

"It's uncanny," Hugh replies. "How did we not see it straight off?" 

"My head feels so light without all that," Forrest says, gesturing at the pile of hair all over the floor of their cabin. "And my nose looks enormous!"

"Hey, I take offense to that. It's my nose, too, I'll have you know!" 

"I wonder if Dad will recognize me! I mean you. You-as-me. Oh, you know what I mean." 

Hugh is laughing, but there's an uncomfortable lump in his throat at the idea of finally meeting his other father, the biological one, after all these years of wondering about him.

"Unfortunately, we've still got a lot of work to do on your accent," he says instead of sharing his apprehension. "We've still got to put the streaks in your hair, too. Father will wonder if they're gone. I insisted on them very strenuously before leaving for camp. And I'll dye mine back brown the same time. No one will notice if we use the showers quickly before supper." 

"Yeah, yeah, OK. I still think they look dorky, but I guess that's what the cool kids in _London_ are doing ... "

"And you wonder why I thought you were rude when we first met ..." 

"Me! You were all Mr. Snooty 'I don't know how to do anything but play soccer, but I still act like I'm better than everyone else around this place.'"

"I did not! Pardon me for having grown up in the city and having an accent ... _which you need to practice_ or this will all be over before it starts." 

"Yeah, well you're lucky you've learned a thing or two about being in the woods this summer or Dad would know something was up right away. He's probably going to want to go camping practically as soon as you get there." 

A few weeks ago, their bickering would have been mean-spirited, but now it's all for show. 

Even if they're no longer at each other's throats, they have to pretend not to get along too well, so that no one suspects anything when they see Forrest's hair short and styled with two artful green and black streaks in it and Hugh's carefree and tousled and plain chocolate brown. Or rather, when they see Forrest pretending to be Hugh and Hugh pretending to be Forrest. 

They've decided to start impersonating each other for last week of camp, just to practice before the proper swap when they go home. 

"Tell me what to expect at the airport when I first arrive," Forrest says. "Will he be waiting for me?"

"I'm certain he will. We've never been apart for this long ... " Hugh's voice catches a bit. He hopes Forrest doesn't notice. "Father always said he had to fight so hard to keep me when I was a baby that he didn't want to ever send me away to school and such. I don't quite know how I convinced him to let me come all the way to America for six whole weeks." 

When he risks a glance, he sees that Forrest is looking at the floor and scuffing his trainer toes. 

"It's hard to imaging Dad being the one fighting him so hard. He's always so nice to everybody." 

"Yeah, well, obviously he didn't try to take me away or anything, because I'm still living with my father and not yours. I think he's just always worried, because, well, we're not biological, you know, so he was afraid that your father ... that he ... that your dad would try to take me back." 

"He wouldn't! He's not like that!"

"What if he does try to when he finds out what we've done? We'll have to tell them before school starts. You don't even know how to speak French or play rugby!"

Forrest waves his hand, "I'm sure I could fake it if I had to." 

The silence hangs between them, Hugh's question unanswered.


	2. Other Dad

**Forrest**

Forrest is totally going to lose it. 

This is by far the stupidest idea he's ever had. And he's had a lot of stupid ideas. (Like that time he broke his arm in fifth grade trying to impress Megan Ellison by jumping off the school roof. As if that would even impress a girl like Megan Ellison who likes books about horses and pioneers and making your own jam and stuff.)

His plane is taxiing toward the gate in London--or just outside London, or wherever Hugh had said he'd be--and on the other side of that gate will be baggage claim and outside of baggage claim will be his dad, his other dad, the one he's never met, or at least not since he was baby or whatever. 

He's going to puke. Seriously. 

His other dad is going to know. How could he not know? Forrest's accent is still shaky. He'd spent all night screaming to make his voice hoarse, so that he could blame a cold for any weirdness in his speech. But he still doesn't think it will work. 

And he still can't stop touching his short hair. When is it going to stop feeling weird? Surely his other dad will notice that he can't stop touching his hair like some kind of neurotic freak. 

He seriously debates just staying in the terminal. It would probably take a few days before anyone found him. He's small and good at blending into crowds. But he can't let Hugh down like that, so he crosses the line of no return at security and picks up Hugh's suitcases from the carousel and heads out to the curb. At least his other dad is picking him up in a borrowed car, so he won't be expected to recognize it. 

He's standing there wondering what to do, how to pull this off, when suddenly someone is sweeping him up in a giant hug. It's suffocating. He didn't expect this. His own dad is much less ... snuggly, he guesses is the word. 

But then the guy, his other dad, pulls away and just looks at him, gripping his shoulders and grinning with crooked teeth.

He's different from the official gallery picture Hugh had showed him online at the camp's computer lab. In real life, he's all scruffy and disheveled. And he looks really strong and yet also somehow like he doesn't quite know how to take care of himself. 

Hugh had said that Other Dad spends hours working on his art projects and often loses track of time, running to important meetings in embarrassingly unfashionable outfits and wrinkled shirts, once even with a paintbrush behind his ear. 

Of course, Forrest thinks Hugh is probably a little too obsessed with clothes and appearances, what with his stupid Justin Bieber hair and these tight jeans that are cutting off Forrest's circulation.

Anyway, all of this is so unlike Forrest's dad, who always looks like he's in a catalog, even when they're camping or sitting around watching TV in their pajamas. 

Forrest tries to imagine Dad and Other Dad ever having been together, but he just can't. He guesses they were probably just both really different back when they were younger, before he and Hugh were born.

"I've missed you terribly. You're never allowed to leave again. Never. Not even for uni. You'll have to be married with children of your own and still living out of your room in our flat," Other Dad teases. 

He's got twinkly eyes. He needs a shave. He's not very tall, but his shoulders are broad. He looks like a boxer from one of those old black-and-white movies his dad loves, but one who might be nearing retirement. 

Forrest tries to remember knowing this face. It must have peered down at him in cribs and strollers, must have cooed him to sleep at night. 

He feels a lump in his throat and shakes off that line of thought. 

"So what did you most crave while you were off gallivanting about in the woods? We'll have whatever you like for supper. I know I always wanted proper bacon after coming home from America," Other Dad says as the grabs Forrest's suitcases--well Hugh's suitcases, actually--and hoists them into a tiny red car. 

Forest nearly blows his cover by trying to get in on the wrong side. But luckily Other Dad just laughs at him and says he's obviously been away from home for too long. 

He still hasn't opened his mouth and said a word. His heart is racing when he finally asks if they can have curry for dinner, knowing how much Hugh complained about missing it at camp. Miraculously, Other Dad just tousles his hair and starts the car. 

He hadn't been caught! 

Maybe he can pull this off! 

The first couple of days are a bit awkward. Forrest is nervous about his accent and doesn't talk much. He manages to play it off as jet lag and his lingering "cold," but he can tell Other Dad is a bit worried. 

Forrest doesn't know what Other Dad is normally like, but he bets his own dad isn't being so indulgent with Hugh, letting him sleep until Noon and taking him out to eat for two meals a day. 

Of course, on the down side, he also doesn't have a television, or at least not one that's hooked up to whatever British people have instead of cable. Other Dad tells Forrest that he's free to watch DVDs in the afternoons. But they don't have anything Forrest's ever heard of before and he's too scared to watch one that might be Hugh's favorite and have it be obvious that he doesn't know what's happening on screen.

But when Forrest wakes up on the third day, Hugh's bedroom finally feeling familiar, he decides, what the Hell, maybe he should take some chances. He isn't ready to come clean, of course. He wants more time here. But he thought of this whole crazy hoax in the first place in order to learn about his missing second father and that's not going to happen if he spends half his days sleeping and the rest pigging out on weird food and thumbing through Hugh's paperback collection. 

But Other Dad must have the same idea, because he sets a cup of tea in front of Forrest and asks, "You know I don't like to pry too much, but is everything quite all right? Did something happen at camp that you'd like to talk about? You seem a bit ... upset." 

This is a perfect opening. Hugh may be a genius with accents, but Forrest is an amazing liar. 

"I was just thinking about ... wondering ... about when ... we lived in America." 

Other Dad looks pained, like he can't believe this is happening. But only for a minute. 

Then he takes a deep breath says, "you want to know about your biological father?" 

He sounds scared. Really scared. Hugh had told him that Other Dad was super afraid of having him taken away, since they're not biologically related. Forrest can't imagine his regular Dad doing such a thing. Not ever. Of course, a few weeks ago he couldn't have imagined having a secret twin brother living halfway around the world, so he honestly doesn't know what to think. 

"Don't be angry," he says. "I'm not trying to ... cause trouble. I'm just curious. I thought about it on the flight home, realizing that while I might not remember having been to America before, I'd actually lived there as a baby." 

"I didn't ... I didn't want for it to be this way, Hugh, sweetheart. Things just didn't work out with your ... biological father the way I'd thought they would and ... well it got very complicated." 

Forrest realizes that he's kind of trapped himself in a corner. He doesn't want to ask any questions that he knows the answers to will involve his brother. But can't just say nothing after bringing it up in the first place. Maybe he's not such a genius after all.

"Do you ... do you really think someone would try take me away from you?" 

This is something Forrest actually does want to know. A lot. 

"At the time when we moved back to London, yes, your grandmother was determined to keep you from me." 

This should probably surprise Forrest, but it actually doesn't. He knows his dad and his grandma don't get along. He'd always thought it was because of his dad being gay. But maybe it's about this baby stealing situation. 

" ... things were ... well it was not a happy time. I was adamant about not to losing you and ... well your biological father let me take you home with me. He helped me tremendously in making it all legal, actually. I ... it was a very conflicted time for me. I was so angry with him, for other reasons that have nothing whatsoever to do with you, and yet so grateful to him at the same time for letting me have you. Today, well, I don't know if your grandmother would try anything along those lines anymore. I certainly would fight her to my last breath if she did, Hugh, never doubt it." 

"Didn't he ... didn't he want me?"

Other Dad bites his bottom lip. Forrest can tell that this is the last question he wants to answer. 

"Of course he did, sweetheart. I don't want you to think, even for a moment, that he didn't love you. But we were both very afraid and it seemed like the best solution. I ... I never intended for it to be forever ... "

Forrest's heart lurches.

He's not sure what Other Dad means. Maybe he hadn't meant to keep Hugh here forever. Or maybe ... maybe he hadn't meant to be apart from Forrest's Dad forever. What if ... what if he and his brother could get them back together? He needs to tell Hugh about this asap.


	3. Bio-father

**Hugh** :

Hugh doesn't know quite how to react when Forrest texts him that they should try to get their fathers back together. 

It's not that the idea isn't appealing. It is. 

But, well, they don't know what split their parents up to begin with and setting it right again could be a lot more complicated than just getting them in a room together. 

Hugh doesn't know the first thing about dating. He's nearly 13 and never even kissed a girl. (Nor a boy, he feels obligated to remind himself, although he's never actually felt inclined to do that one.) How could he possibly know whether or not his parents are still suited? 

Besides, his bio-father is dating Robert anyway. 

Robert is not Hugh's favourite person. He's perpetually frowning. Constantly! He's surrounded by this beautiful California sunshine and a stunningly gorgeous ranch and yet he mopes about like bloody Eeyore all the time. 

And anyway, if Hugh's bio-father likes him so much then why is he so miserable? Shouldn't he be mooning about in love or some such? 

By contrast, Hugh liked his bio-father straight off. 

He's nothing at all like Hugh's proper father, but he has this comforting presence, as if there isn't anything he can't handle. Including Robert's dour personality, apparently. 

The three of them are supposed to go camping at the weekend, giving Robert and Hugh--well Robert and Forrest--time to "get to know each other." 

Hugh doesn't know quite how to handle this. His own father doesn't really date. When Hugh was younger he'd gone out with other blokes fairly often, but not in a few years now. Perhaps he meets people in the afternoon when Hugh is in school, but he certainly hasn't brought anyone around to the flat like he used to when Hugh was small. 

Forrest is not happy about the Robert situation. Even before he'd voiced the crazy idea to get their parents back together, he'd been irritated to hear that Robert had been at the ranch since the day after Hugh's arrival. 

Hugh suspects that Robert's presence might be the real reason Forrest is so keen on this plan for rekindling a parental love match. But he doesn't want to point that out just yet. 

Forrest said he'd met Robert twice before camp, once on a visit to the City and once when Robert had spent the night at the ranch. He hadn't liked him. But he also hadn't seemed to think things were serious, because he hadn't even mentioned Robert at all when running down all the facts about their bio-father for Hugh during their frantic exchange of information in final days of camp. 

Even Hugh isn't so thick as to not realize that his bio-father wanting he and Robert to bond means that things are getting serious between them. He's not sure whether Forrest was just willfully ignoring the situation or whether things got a lot more intense while his bio-father was alone and childless for six weeks.

He erases the string of exchanged messages from from Forrest's phone, just in case, and goes outside to sit by the pool until his bio-father is done sending emails from his home office. 

Living without his own outdated-but-trusty mobile at hand hasn't been difficult, considering that he'd not been allowed it at camp. But he doesn't know what to do when this posh phone pings with emails and texts from Forrest's many friends. He can't very well forward them to Forrest in London. But he also lacks the knowledge to actually respond or, God forbid, meet up with any of these people, none of whom he would recognize. 

He really ought to have thought about this aspect of the swap beforehand. Now he's stuck making Forrest appear to be antisocial. 

As for his own mobile, in London with Forrest, well he's not too concerned. Hugh has plenty of mates from school, but most of them are off on holiday with their families and the others wouldn't take offense to being ignored for a bit. Hugh is known for living in his own head from time to time, probably a product of growing up in an "us against the world" attitude with his father. 

He tries to imagine what it would have been like to spend the last 12 years as part of a foursome--two parents working and living in tandem, a twin brother always at his side and underfoot. It's inconceivable. But not an unpleasant fantasy. 

Just then his bio-father shows up and asks Hugh if he wants to play catch. 

Damn! 

He played some baseball at camp, but Forrest is ace at it and there is no way Hugh will be able to fool anyone that this is a sport he's known anything at all about for longer than six weeks. 

"Soccer?" he asks, tongue nearly tripping over the just-plain-wrong-sounding word. 

Thank God his request is met with a shrug and a casual nod. 

Forrest and his dad seem to spend a lot of their time doing sports-related activities or outdoorsy things like camping and canoeing. It's quite the opposite to Hugh and his father who go to museums and galleries and films and concerts of all sorts. The closest they spend to camping is sitting in the park on a nice afternoon. 

It's difficult to imagine how his father and Forrest's dad had ever found anything at all to do together. Besides, well ... oh God, don't think about _that_. He wills his brain to focus on anything else, but he can't stop his face from pinking with awkward shame at the very idea ... oh God! 

He finds thoughts like this creeping into his mind with alarming frequency lately. Not about his parents. Shudder. Just seeing random pairings of adults on the street or wherever and reminding himself that they have sex with each other. He forces his mind to change the subject and focus on the ball at his feet.

Thankfully he's played enough footie over the years that he has no problem keeping up with his bio-father, even besting him. 

"You got good at camp, little man! Maybe we should get you on a team this year. Whadya think?" 

Hugh just grins and shrugs. 

"Plenty of time to decide." 

"Was it cutting off all that hair that did it? I still can't get over it." 

He reaches over to pat Hugh's head affectionately. He's much less touchy-feely than Hugh's dad, but Hugh supposes that goes with the territory of being a macho cowboy living on a ranch in California. 

Hugh had expected his bio-father to be all patchouli oil and granola, what with Forrest's formerly absurdly long hair and fondness for hemp jewelry. But apparently those traits weren't handed down to him. 

Hugh knows his bio-father earns a living doing some sort of engineering with video game consuls, which is a whole other level of odd, seeing as Hugh's actual father would never allow him to have one. 

He lives in terror every evening that he'll be asked to play something. But so far he's yet to see a single piece of gaming equipment around the house, thankfully. But other than disappearing into his office for a few hours each morning and afternoon, his bio-father mostly seems to spend his time caring for the ranch property and doing the crossword with Robert. 

That night Robert Robert goes back to the City to work for a few days, but will return Saturday for their camping trip. Hugh couldn't be happier about his absence.

Everything goes swimmingly all week. 

Hugh has breakfast with his bio-father each morning--no lying in allowed in this house!--and reads or texts with Forrest while his dad works. Forrest has a lot of books about dragons and elves and things and while it's not Hugh's usual sort of thing, he's enjoying looking through them. 

Then later they do something sporty--soccer, canoeing, cycling--before lunch. Afterward Hugh usually swims, warning about waiting an hour be damned, he's living in a house with a pool! And his bio-father does more exercises--even thought he probably should wait after eating, too--or puts on jeans does cowboy-like things around the ranch property. 

The fitness obsession is just about the only similarity Hugh can see between his two fathers. Because his father exercises more than any other dad he knows. Of course, all of his friend's fathers are straight and most of them are married, so that's probably the reason for it. 

But still, this is a man who leaves the house looking utterly disheveled half the time and can't be bothered to organise supper at least once a week, because he's obsessing over some art project or other in his home studio. But he never forgets to visit the gym. Never. 

After his shower, Hugh usually watches telly (another thing he's not allowed at home and they have so many channels here!) until supper, which his bio-father fixes with startling concentration and delicious results. He favours outdoor cooking, and wears a long striped apron over his clothes while he works. 

Hugh is told repeatedly that he can invite friends over to the ranch or get a ride to the local movie theater, but he declines over and over, saying he's just glad to be home. This makes his bio-father smile, even if he looks a bit suspicious all the same. He must wonder if "Forrest" has had a row with his mates, but he doesn't ask. Hugh's proper father would certainly ask, but this one just lets it go. 

Hugh understand that. Even as Forrest is off prying Hugh's father for information about himself as a baby, Hugh is content to just observe. 

In the evenings they usually watch a film on the DVD player. Hugh avoids the baseball ones, for fear it will ignite a passion for a game of catch. He likes the black-and-white detective stories though. His father takes him to the cinema to see all sorts of things, but they've never watched one of these. Perhaps they remind him of when he was married, Hugh thinks sadly. 

On Friday night, Hugh offers to help cook. He likes cooking. Or assisting with cooking, anyway. And he particularly likes having something to do while he spends time with his other father. Both of them seem to be more of the quiet sort.

Hugh has never quite realized until now how much he depends on his regular father to drive their conversation, to ask the questions that keep them connected. Forrest has already found out more about their past in a few days than Hugh had in nearly 13 years. 

But working efficiently and in harmony together in the kitchen lets Hugh bask in that aura of competency and know-how that his bio-father gives off in spades. Hugh wants to learn how to make everything seem like just another easy hurdle to clear just like him.

Of course it all goes spectacularly tits up when Hugh slices his hand with the knife he's using to cut up an eggplant.

He swears flagrantly, letting his accent slip a bit in the process. But his other father doesn't seem to notice, because he's springing into action, elevating Hugh's hand, applying pressure, wrapping it in a tea towel and pressing Hugh to hold an ice pack from the freezer against it. He calmly walks out to the grill and extinguishes it, then makes Hugh sit on the floor so he can examine the wound and Hugh can keep it above his head at the same time.

He bites his lip and looks serious.

"You need stitches," he says, matter-of-fact. "I'm going to give you a choice. We can drive half an hour to the hospital and wait in the ER and they can sew you up perfectly so it won't leave a scar. Or I can do it here, but it might not look so pretty."

"You know how to do it?" Hugh asks, voice dull with shock.

His bio-father gives him a look, long and questioning.

Some deeply embarrassing part of Hugh desperately wants to choose the homemade sutures and hopes they'll scar, so he'll always have this reminder of this time with his bio-father. But he isn't certain which one he's supposed to choose, which one Forrest would choose.

Sod it, he wants the memory.

"You. I want you to do it," he says.

His bio-father is deliberate and thorough in setting up for the surgery. He brings Hugh to his office desk, where he says the light is the best, and uses alcohol to wipe the whole area down before laying down a gauzy sterile pad and placing Hugh's hand across it, facing up.

He sets the medical kit down and as he's unpacking the necessary equipment and setting it gently on the gauze, he says: "OK I have another choice for you. I don't have any anesthetic to give you. I have some very strong painkillers, but if I give one to you now, it won't start working until after I'm done. It's not going to stop hurting afterward, of course, so you'll be grateful for it then, when you can doze off for a nap. But you'll feel every stitch as I put it in."

Hugh shudders.

"Or, it's not going to win me any father-of-the-year awards, but I'll give you a belt of whiskey which, given your size and, I hope, inexperience with alcohol, should dull the pain while I sew you up. But then you can't have anything stronger than Aspirin afterward."

Hugh doesn't know what to think. He doesn't know what Forrest would do. He doesn't even know what he wants.

"I ... I," he stutters, unable to decide. "Which would you pick?"

"The whiskey," his bio-father answers, without hesitation. "I don't like the fuzzy feeling that pills give me. But you might want to be able to sleep afterward, which they will let you do."

"I'll do the whiskey," Hugh says, trusting his bio-father completely to make the right selection. He is clearly a man who knows how to do this sort of thing.

He leaves the room and comes back with a tiny glass of amber liquid.

"Just drink it down in one gulp. You probably won't like the taste. I sincerely hope you don't like the taste. It'll burn your throat, but it should dull the pain almost right away. It'll also increase the blood flow, so I'll have to start immediately afterward. Let me just wash my hands before you drink it."

When he returns he nods at Hugh, who swallows the foul-tasting liquid, but can't help coughing a bit at the end.

"You _like_ that?" he asks, incredulous.

His bio-father smiles wryly.

"I sincerely hope you are not just humoring me," he says as he removes the ice pack and picks up this funny scissor-like tool and an incredibly large, curved needle.

Hugh's head feels light. He's not sure if it's whiskey or fear or both. Although his hand does hurt a little bit less, which is good.

"It's better if you don't watch," his bio-father says with with calm authority, and presses Hugh's hand flat on the pad.

He closes his eyes, but doesn't have to wait long. He cries out when he feels the needle go in, but then he bites his lower lip and swallows the pain, trying to impress his bio-father with how tough he can be.

When it's over, his bio-father brings him a fresh ice pack, squeezes his shoulder affectionately and asks if he'd like to lie down for a bit.

Hugh asks if he can watch telly, so his bio-father brings his pillows and blanket and sets them up on the sofa, along with a bottle of water and some tablets, which he says Hugh can take whenever he's ready. He pops something in the DVD player and then ruffles Hugh's hair when he leaves to clean up and see if he can salvage supper.

Hugh can still feel the whiskey in his stomach, which is all warm. He thinks his cheeks are flushed, too. He half dozes and half watches _Lord of the Rings_ , which he supposes must be Forrest's favourite.

About an hour into the film, his bio-father reappears with a plate of food, all cut up in bite sized bits, which is when Hugh realizes that he can't properly operate a knife and fork in this condition. He sits up, so his bio-father can join him on the sofa.

"How are you feeling?"

"It hurts, but I don't want to be a baby about it."

"Do you think you feel up to having a talk? There's something I want to ask you about."

Stupidly, Hugh blurts out: "Is this about Robert?"

His bio-father looks taken aback.

"No, no. Although if that's something you want to discuss, we can do that, too."

"OK" Hugh says, suddenly very nervous.

"Is there something you'd like to tell me about your time at camp?" he asks.

His tone is so even-keeled, but Hugh is struck with terror.

"No, not really. It was fun? Um thank you? For sending me? Did I not say that?"

"It's just that it seems strange to me that you're being so stoic about this," he gestures at Hugh's bandaged hand. "It's unlike you. And I'm a bit shocked that you'd forgotten I could give stitches after that time I had to sew up Leslie Harding on our group trip to Yosemite when you _fainted_ while watching it. And I'm really unsure of how you encountered the phrase, 'bloody, buggering pig-fuck,' which you very clearly shouted when you sliced your hand. So ... I'm just wondering if there's something you'd like to tell me."

Hugh wants the ground to swallow him. He's so embarrassed to have been caught out like this. Forrest will probably be cross with him for ending the charade so soon. His bio-father is acting so calm and reserved that Hugh doesn't know what to think. Perhaps he's angry. Perhaps he's disappointed.

Hugh had thought he'd want to shout at his bio-father when the truth finally outed. Ask him how he could have let this happen, kept their family so far apart and half in the dark? But all he wants to do right now is hide and cry.

Eventually he has to say something.

"You knew?" he asks, using his real voice. Humiliatingly, it cracks when he speaks.

Bio-father inches closer on the sofa and grips Hugh's knee.

"I didn't know anything, but I hoped ... tell me the truth. Is it ... is it you? Hughey?"

Hugh nods and his bio-father wraps his arms around him in a hug. To his great shame, Hugh starts blubbering against his neck.

After a few minutes of this, he pulls away and looks up.

"Are you ... I'm sorry for crying, are you disappointed in me?"

"Hughey I could never be. I am so happy to see you. You have no idea."

"You are?"

"I've seen pictures of you online. On your school's website. On your friend Albert's Facebook page. But I didn't know when I'd get to meet you in person again."

"You kept track of me?"

"Of course I did. You're my _son_ Hughey. I've seen your grades every term of school. I've seen the scores of your rugby matches. I am so very, very sorry that things have worked out the way they did, but I promise you that I never forgot about you. I thought about you every single day for the past 11 and a half years. Every damn day."

Stupidly, Hugh blurts out: "Father won't let me have a Facebook page yet. ... Or you could have seen more photos."

"I won't let Forrest have one, either. Don't blame your dad."

"Forrest is going to be very cross with me."

"He'll get over it. He's in London, I'm assuming?"

Hugh nods.

"You met at camp?"

He nods again, feeling very young and very, very foolish.

"Was there more to the plan than switching places? How long did you expect to pull it off?"

"We just ... we just wanted to meet you. We planned to come clean before term started. Just a few weeks."

Hugh tells him all about camp and how they'd figured it out and how Forrest had come up with the idea for a swap and how he himself had formulated the idea to win a trip into town so that they could procure the necessary hair dye by entering the talent show. And about coaching Forrest on the accent for hours at a time. It's such a relief to let it all come flooding out of him.

More than an hour must have gone by when his bio-dad looks at his watch.

"If you can just hang on for a minute, Hughey, I'm going to have to call your father and tell him what's going on. It's morning there now and he needs to know the situation. I'm going to ask you to give me your phone so you don't text Forrest and give him a head's up."

"It's Forrest's phone, and it's in my room, his room."

"Thank you. I'll tell you what he says, OK?"

"Do you speak with him often?"

"Only through our lawyers. I haven't talked to him directly since you were 16 months old, when he left."

"Oh ... " Hugh doesn't know how to respond to that. He hadn't expected that his father had been the one to do the leaving.

"I know you have questions. And I promise I will tell you everything you want to know. No secrets anymore. But I really should phone him now, give him a full day to make plans. And I'd better call Robert, too, tell him the camping trip is off."

"Oh ..." he says again, glad that the trip is canceled, but unsure if it's because he's going to be sent home straightaway, or if it's just that there's no point in Robert getting to know Hugh and not Forrest, or what.

"Do you think you can stay awake for a bit? I don't know how long this is going to take. It's OK if you doze off. We can talk all day tomorrow if you want."

"Do you ... do you think he'll forgive me?"

"Your dad? I'm sure he will. Obviously, we're going to have to talk to you about lying to your parents and committing passport fraud, among other things. But, honestly, at the moment, I can't blame you or Forrest for any of it. I would have done the same thing in your situation."

"Do you ... do you know his number?"

"My lawyer keeps track of it. It's in an 'in case of emergency' file on my computer. Although if you want to just give it to me that would be helpful." 

Hugh recites the number from memory. 

"Tell him ... tell him I miss him, " he says.


	4. Long-lost Son

**Eames:**

At first, he's sure it's just his alarm.

He's quite ambitious about setting it very early so he'll have the opportunity for some exercise and perhaps some painting before Hugh stumbles out of bed. Of course, lately Hugh has been sleeping obscenely late, so he's not sure why he keeps bothering.

But then he realizes that it's far too early even for his own snooze-happy habit. 

He stands up so fast his head spins, fumbling for his mobile across the room on the dressing table. Someone ringing when it's still dark outside is never a good sign. The number is identified only as being from America. 

Oh fuck. Hopefully, it's just some arsehole New York gallery employee who can't keep the time zones right in his head. It wouldn't be the first time. 

But his heart is hammering in his chest as he answers. Nothing has him panicky like an unexpected phone call.

Please, God, let everything be sound. 

"Good morning, Eames speaking." 

"Uh ... hi. It's Arthur." 

Eames' world stops spinning. 

He hears a roaring in his ears. 

Arthur would never ring him, _never_ , unless something had gone catastrophically wrong. This is the single most-agonising moment of his life, worse even than that fateful call at school about his parents when he was 16.

"What's happened?" he asks, voice shaking. "Forrest? ... Is he ... ?" 

He can't even complete the sentence. He can't allow himself to even think it. 

"No, no nothing like that," Arthur rushes in. "He's fine. It's uh ... "

"Oh Arthur, are you ... God ... Oh Arthur ... " 

Once again he's at a loss for words. Eames' heart is breaking anew about their split. Arthur is sick. Or he's hurt in some way. And now it's too late. Eames never wanted them to give each other the silent treatment for so long and now he's going to regret it for all his life. 

"No, Eames. I ... I did this all wrong. I'm so sorry. I ... Everyone is fine. No one is seriously hurt or sick or ... . But ... I need to talk to you. We have a situation. Everyone is OK, but it turns out that ... Somehow ... The boys met each other at camp. And they switched places. Forrest is there with you and Hughey is here with me." 

"You're having me on?" 

Eames is so relieved that he can't even begin to ingest this information. He's speaking to Arthur for the first time in nearly a dozen years and somehow this improbable, farcical situation is what made it happen. 

"Am I dreaming?" he wonders aloud. 

Arthur laughs, his little half-derisive-half-amused huff that shouldn't be so achingly familiar after all these years, but is. 

"Not dreaming." 

"Hold on half a tick," Eames says and sets the mobile down. 

Eames rubs his hands over his face and just allows himself to breathe for a few moments. He's shaking a bit, still not entirely over the terror that something had happened to Forrest. Simply hearing Arthur's voice again is a bit of a shock as well.

He switches to speaker. 

"So tell me again, this is entirely surreal. Forrest is _here_? In my flat? Hopefully asleep, just two doors down? Has been for a week and I haven't noticed?" 

"I didn't, either," Arthur says.

In an earlier era, this would likely have sparked a fight between them--Arthur silently accusing Eames of doing a shoddy job as a father, Eames lashing out with hostility in return, both of them willfully misunderstanding every statement the other made.

"It was just a fluke really. I need to tell you that he cut his hand. Hugh did. He needed stitches but it's minor and should heal OK." 

"He what?" 

Eames' chest feels tight again. 

"He's OK, Eames. I promise. I'll send you a photo of the wound if you want to see it. But I know what I'm doing. It's fine. Please, trust me." 

Younger Eames would have made Arthur feel awful about this. But now Eames knows that mistakes can happen to any parent and is certain that Arthur was doing his best. He wouldn't have agreed to this damn-fool situation if he hadn't trusted Arthur with their son's life to begin with, after all. Despite everything, he always knew Arthur would be a good father.

"I do, Arthur." he says and then blushes a bit at realizing how very like wedding vows that had sounded. 

Thank God they're not on Skype. 

"Well he's got a mouth on him."

Eames laughs. 

"That he does." 

"His entirely un-American choice of swear words, combined with some missing memories about an earlier incident involving stitches and ... well I started to think maybe, somehow ... didn't really believe it until I heard him admit it with my own ears. I mean ... what are the chances?" 

"Minuscule. It's very nearly impossible that this happened." 

"And yet it did." 

"Doesn't that just bugger all?"

"Indeed." 

Eames can't help himself. He lets out all the mirth that's been building up in his chest, replacing his earlier panic. 

Arthur's voice is so solemn, but the part of Eames that still knows him on a bone-deep level, the part that always will, can tell that Arthur is trying very hard not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. 

And then Arthur is joining him. My God, he hasn't heard that laugh in so long. It spurns him to near-hysteria, at the same time as it pains him. How had they come to this? 

Finally, he pulls himself together. 

"So we should come to you, I'm assuming? Or would you rather come here?" 

"I ... I don't know. You're coming, too?" 

"Don't be thick, Arthur. Of course. We've let this go on for far too long. Best to all get together and sort it. I'm not going to just put Forrest on a plane and say goodbye, am I. Is that what you want?"

He can feel a little of the old anger starting to rise. 

"No. No, of course not. We should all be together. And besides, Forrest will have to commit passport fraud _again_ just by traveling here. He'll need an adult, just in case. I just ... I didn't think ... "

" ... you'd see me darken your doorstep again?" 

"Well ... yes, if we're being honest."

"I promise to be on my very best behavior, darling." 

Oh fuck! Where the bloody hell did that come from? It's just too damn easy to slip back into teasing Arthur, even all these years later, now that they're apparently being civil. He'll have to really watch himself. 

"So I can book you two tickets for tomorrow, if you want." 

"Arthur, I'm perfectly capable of purchasing tickets without your assistance." 

"I know you are, Eames. I've seen your catalog," Arthur says.

He's completely deadpan, but Eames knows he's teasing.

"I was just trying to be helpful. Hugh and I have been talking for a long time, waiting for it to be early enough for me to call you. He's out like a light now and it's not too late. I thought you'd want to talk to Forrest and I could take care of the logistics." 

Eames' heart melts just a little bit. 

"Well when you put it like that ... "

"It's ... it's .. I can't even explain what it was like to just talk to him. For the first time ever. I mean, I've been doing it all week, but I didn't _know_. It's ... he's a really good kid. You've done a really good job, Eames." 

Tears are pricking up behind Eames' eyes. He's always been a bit of a sap and frequently gets tight in the chest when people praise his son. But to hear it from Arthur, well, it makes him want a bloody time machine so he can go back and erase all this stupidity between them. What a waste.

"Thank you, Arthur," his voice is rough with emotion and there's no hiding it, not from someone who knows him so well. 

"No, thank you, Eames, for raising him. Now go talk to Forrest so you can return the compliment," he says, expertly diffusing the situation. 

"Ta, Arthur. You'll text me the travel details?" 

"Sure. I'll try to get something in the morning tomorrow, which will give you time to pack and take care of whatever you need before going. Is that enough time? Do you need another day?" 

"No, no, I just want to come straightaway. I'm supposed to meet with my agent Monday, but I can do it over the phone from yours, yes?"

"Of course."

"Right then, I'll just ring off. Thank you, again, for ... " he isn't quite sure how to continue. 

"It's no trouble. I'll see you on Sunday." 

"Cheers, Arthur."

Eames slides Hugh's door open and takes a moment just to watch his sleeping son's face. He can hardly believe this is his Forrest looking so peaceful, so fucking angelic, so _actually bloody here_. 

He has a Google alert set for Forrest's name and every once a while it will turn up some baseball photos from the local paper or something related to an event at Forrest's school. He'd wondered why none had popped up this summer. Now he knows. 

He saves all the pictures in a password-protected folder and occasionally looks through them while Hugh is off at school or sleeping. Sometimes, if he's been drinking at supper, he gets a little weepy. 

He pulls out the desk chair and sets it next to the bed, ready to talk, then reaches out and shakes Forrest's shoulder. It's past time they got to know one another.

Forrest stares up at him blearily. Now that he knows to look for it, Eames can see him struggling to think about the accent before he speaks.

"Did we have plans this morning?" he asks.

"No," Eames replies, and he can't help the smile that plays on his lips. "I've come to tell you that the jig is up. I just rung off with your father."

Forrest's mouth hangs open like a codfish.

"Are we in trouble?"

"I suspect so, yes, but we didn't have time to discuss it. The plan now is to get to California, then we can decide all that."

"You're sending me home? Right away?"

With a father's practiced eye, Eames can already see that Forrest is more guarded with his emotions than Hugh. But this question is still raw enough to make him want to wrap Forrest up in his arms and never let go. He senses, however, that with this one, he's going to have to _earn_ the right to do that sort of thing.

"Of course not, sweetheart. I'm coming with you."

Forrest's face lights up like the morning.

"So we go home together and then what happens?"

His voice is so full of hope that it makes Eames positively ache.

"Then we figure it out, how to work it so that we can all be a part of one another's lives."

Forrest is practically glowing at that.

"Or, rather, so that you and your brother can each be part of both my life and your dad's life."

Forrest deflates a bit at this clarification.

"And you and Hugh will spend time together, of course," he adds.

It doesn't seem to help matters. Oh bugger. This is going to be a whole other sort of trouble, one Eames doesn't know how to handle. It seems that Forrest wants his parents back together and he is going to see every sign of rapport between them as a clue.

The problem being, of course, that Eames desperately wants for he and Arthur to get along again, as well.

He's not delusional. He doesn't think that they're going to get back together--they've built their own separate lives that can't just be dismantled and reformed with the snap of a finger. Not to mention all the hurt and anger between them. But he'd like for them to be able to speak to each other again, even if only as co-parents.

But moving toward that future and managing Forrest's expectations at the same time, well, that's going to take some doing. 

"Are we leaving now?" 

"Not until tomorrow morning. Your dad is ordering the tickets now. I thought we could have breakfast and talk. I'm sure you have questions."

"I bet you have questions for me, too! Like how we pulled this off?"

Eames laughs, delighted at all the differences he can see between his two sons now that he knows to look for them. Hugh would never want to jump straight to talking about his own exploits. He'd want to listen to Eames' side of the story and figure out how to piece the two halves together. 

"I suppose I should refrain from pointing out that you 'pulled it off' for just shy of a week?"

"Not my fault! I knew he'd be the one to blow it."

"Watch it, that's your brother you're talking about. _And my son_. I'll have you know he was only found out because he had his hand sliced open. Your dad had to give him sutures." 

"You're joking."

Eames shakes his head. 

"Is he OK?" 

"I'm told he is. He was asleep when your father and I spoke."

"I bet that's how my dad knew. I watched him do that once, when we were at Yosemite with our Rainbow Families group. It did not go well. For me, I mean. The stitches were good, I'm sure. I totally fainted. Super embarrassing."

Eames grins. _Of course_ Arthur is in some club for gay parents. Always a joiner, Arthur, for better or worse. 

"So before you begin your epic tale, lets move to the kitchen so I can make breakfast."

"Awesome. I'm so hungry."

Eames sets up to make bacon and eggy bread and listens as Forrest unspools his story. He's already all too well aware that this is but the first telling of a tale that he's going to dine out on for the rest of his life. 

"Well don't be mad, OK, but we kind of hated each other at first."

Eames laughs, utterly unsurprised. 

"But we don't anymore, I swear. We kind of had to pretend not to be friends at camp, so that no one would suspect but ... I'm getting ahead of myself."

This kid knows how to hold an audience, Eames thinks. He hopes that Forrest doesn't run roughshod over Hugh when they're together. But he has a feeling that Hugh's powers of and observation mean that he already knows how to turn the tables on his brother if necessary.

"So we hated each other. Or we fought a lot. I thought Hugh was all snobby because of his hair and his accent and because he didn't know how to play baseball. He's really good at soccer though!"

"You should see him at rugby."

"That's what he said, too! Anyway, so we didn't get along, but despite all that Hugh still kind of followed me around a lot. He was always _looking_ at me. Well, I didn't know it yet, but Hugh, being the braniac that he is, had noticed that we kinda looked alike under all our differences and he started to wonder if maybe his surrogate mom had had another kid. ... Another kid meaning me." 

"I gathered." 

Eames feels a pang of guilt. He sincerely hopes that Hugh didn't go to America _intending_ to find a half-sibling.

"So anyway, some of the other guys, not people I was friends with, but just other campers, they started teasing him about it thinking, like, that he had a crush on me, you know?"

Eames nods, but his heart rate picks up. The direction of this story is making him nervous. 

"Anyway, Hugh might look a little wimpy, but he can handle himself. He didn't take any sh ..." 

Forrest checks himself and looks up questioningly. 

"I don't care if you curse, Forrest, as long as it's in private or a socially appropriate situation." 

"He didn't take any shit from those guys. And even though I thought I hated him, I backed him up, because, like, their tone was really not cool, right? You get what I'm saying?" 

'I'm familiar, yes," Eames responds, still on edge. 

"Anyway, at Rainbow Families they always tell us that we should be, like, ambassadors. So later when we were in timeout for fighting--even though we _totally_ didn't start it and those guys were homophobic assholes anyway ... " 

His eyes flick to Eames to double check his permission to curse. 

" ... I made sure to talk to him about it. I told Hugh that I didn't like him that way, but that it was OK if he liked me that way, and about my dad and Rainbow Families and everything. I just, you know, tried to make a safe space or whatever ... "

Eames can't help himself. He sets down the turner and wraps Forrest in a hug. His eyes are wet with tears. 

"I am so proud of you," he pulls back and says, wiping his eyes. 

Forrest is blushing, but he looks happy, not embarrassed. He hugs Eames back, which naturally only causes more tears. 

They break apart when Eames realizes that he'd left the cooker on and that the first slice of eggy bread is burning. He salvages the pan and prompts Forrest to continue. 

"Well, after I finished, he told me about you and about thinking we could be related. We still thought we were just half-brothers though, same mom. It wasn't until we realized that we had the same birthday that we figured it out."

"When was that?"

"The next morning. We bailed on arts and crafts. I was ... I was kind of mad at first. And I wanted to call home right away and yell at my dad. But Hugh convinced me to give it a day or two and see how much we could put together on our own. Then I came up with the idea of swapping places. I mean I knew that we'd have to tell you eventually. But ... "

He looks hesitant for the first time.

"You can say anything, sweetheart," Eames tells him, offering a quick shoulder squeeze. "I can take it. I probably deserve it." 

"I just wanted to see what you'd be like in regular life, if you thought I was Hugh and everything was just normal."

"Can I tell you a secret?" Eames says, setting down a plate in front of him. "I'm glad you did it this way." 

He pours a bowl of cereal for himself and sits down next to Forrest at the counter. 

"Do you have any further questions for me, beyond what you were able to ask earlier in the week?" 

"So, like, my grandma wanted to keep you from us? So you adopted Hugh?" 

"In short, yes," Eames says as he rises to switch off the boiling kettle and fix some tea. "Hold on just a tick. Would you like some?" 

Forrest wrinkles his nose. 

"Cocoa? I'm afraid I only have the instant kind, but I'll do in a pinch." 

"Sure." 

Eames starts talking as he works: "So first off, I should tell you that your grandparents on my side are both dead. You've an uncle, Kit. I wish I could bring him round to meet you, but he's on holiday in France at the moment."

"What happened to them?"

"They were in an car crash when I was just 16. I was away at school at the time and Kit was at uni." 

"I'm so sorry. I would have liked to meet them." 

Eames can feel himself on the verge of tears again, so he pats Forrest's shoulders in a quick hug as he sits back down to his breakfast and carries on with the story. 

"Well because of this, I'd always been really eager to have a family of my own, replace what I'd lost and all. And then your dad's dad got sick and he started feeling the same way. So we moved to the family ranch--which had been empty since your great grandfather died, I'm sure you know that bit. And your grandparents loaned us the money to hire a surrogate. We were totally broke back then. Your dad was just getting his company off the ground and I was still early in my career. We wanted a family but never could have afforded surrogacy, nor an adoption, without assistance."

Forrest's eyes are huge, and he's uncharacteristically silent, taking it all in.

"Didn't plan on twins. But the way it turned out is all the better, of course. Wouldn't have changed a thing. Or not about that anyway. "

Eames pauses to squeeze Forrest's knee, make sure he knows how much he was wanted .

"But then later, after your grandfather passed ... Your dad and I were having problems, completely unrelated to you or to his father ... And your grandmother ... she was not handling her grief well. And she used her financial leverage to try to deny me from any parental rights. She'd paid for the surrogate, of course. Your dad was biologically related to both of you and I was not. So I had no financial nor genetic proof of fatherhood. The legal situation was tenuous, too. We'd been married in Canada and it wasn't recognized by the United States nor the state of California. I was genuinely afraid of being shut out of my own family. We were trying to save our marriage and his mother's threats were just a strain we couldn't handle. So your father let me adopt Hugh, as a sort of last-ditch measure to demonstrate to me that I wouldn't lose everything if we divorced. We kept trying for a few months after that, but ... everything went tits up anyway, unfortunately. At least I got to keep one of my children, thanks to your dad's kindness. It was far from an ideal plan, but it was made in haste and desperation." 

"So why did you pick Hugh and not me?" 

"Purely random choice. Before you were even born, when we first found out we were expecting twin boys, I'd selected the name Hugh and your dad picked Forrest. So that's how we divvied you up. No real art or science to it. At the time we were hoping it wouldn't matter, that we'd stay together and everything would be rosy. But, well ... " 

"And you really haven't talked to Dad in all this time?" 

"Not until this morning, no." 

"Are you scared to see him?" 

Eames is startled into laughter. 

His sons might be geniuses. 

"Perhaps a bit." 

"Don't worry, I'll have your back." 

"You're bloody well amazing, you know that?" he says, ruffling Forrest's hair.

Eames tidies up from breakfast and Forrest goes to shower and dress.

"Forrest!" he calls, before he hears the water turn on.

"Yeah!" 

"No texting your brother! He needs to sleep after his injury." 

"OK." 

"Bring me your phone!' 

Forrest slumps into the room in Hugh's dressing gown and hands the mobile over, looking exaggeratedly dejected. Then, on the turn of a dime, his expression brightens.

"Can we go shopping?"

"We're leaving in less than a day." 

"I know, but now that I'm used to them, I kind of want some cool London clothes. Also, you should probably have some nice clothes to wear for important meetings with lawyers or whatever will happen when we get there." 

It's a valiant effort to be sure, trying to groom Eames before Arthur sees him again. It's completely transparent, but Forrest's only 12, after all. 

While Forrest gets ready, Eames ponders how to handle this unsubtle matchmaking plan. In the end, he decides it's best to ignore it for now and try to redirect that energy into other avenues. 

Arthur texts the flight details while Forrest is trying on a pair of jeans. 

[ta for this, darling] 

Regarding the endearments, Eames has decided that in for a penny, in for a pound, is his best strategy. He can't seem to stop them from slipping out, so it's best to make it seem like they're not anything to be fussed about and then they won't be. 

[forrest is bloody amazing. u must b so proud. *i* am so proud.]

Arthur texts him back an honest-to-God smiley face. Arthur uses emoticons?! Will wonders never cease. 

[We should compare notes before you arrive. Call me tonight?]

[Notes?]

[On what the boys said. What they think about all this. What they might want.]

It won't do to have Forrest hear his parents on the phone, not with his tendency for scheming and his obvious hopes for a romantic reunion.

[ok. after forrest falls asleep. will ring u. might be very late tho]

[Don't worry about the time. This is important.]

Before this morning's call, whenever Eames had thought about the inevitability of Arthur coming back into his and Hugh's life at some point, he'd imagined a great deal of shouting and passive aggression, not this sweet, friendly banter. It has him on the back foot. 

He decides that perhaps he does need a few new pairs of trousers and a shirt or two. Just in case. One does want to look his best when he sees his ex-husband again for the first time in 11 years, after all. 

Eames drinks three cups of tea while waiting for Forrest to finish packing Hugh's clothes and his own new pairs of jeans and jumpers and a wool jacket that he won't be able to wear for months in California. 

He's nervous. It feels as if he's about to go on a date with a bloke he's fancied for a long time. Except, of course, he hasn't felt that way about _anyone_ since he first asked Arthur for drinks all those years ago in San Francisco. 

Not that Eames has been a monk. He goes out to the bars from time to time if Hugh is at a friend's for the night. He has the occasional online-generated meetup while Hugh is in school, if he feels the need. But all that is just mutually getting off with hot guys, it's not ... he doesn't have _feelings_ about them. 

It's somewhat pathetic, but he's never even considered proper dating of the sort that leads to a relationship. He'd half figured, maybe when Hugh was older he could think about all that. But he also couldn't imagine ever loving anyone else even half as much as he'd loved Arthur and look how that turned out. What was the point in even trying? 

When he's certain Forrest is asleep, Eames takes his mobile to bed with him, along with a glass of red wine, and rings Arthur's number. 

"Hello," Arthur sounds bleary with sleep. He must have dozed off waiting. 

"Don't let me disturb you," Eames says. "We can talk tomorrow." 

"No, no it's OK. I want to talk for a minute at least. How'd it go?" 

"Brilliant. Forrest is ... he's a miracle. I mean, don't get me wrong, Hugh is too, of course. But I've seen him grow from crying baby to who he is today. This is ... "

"It's like a magic trick," Arthur interjects. 

"Precisely. I wouldn't go so far as to say this experience makes the whole thing worth it. But it comes close."

Fuck! Why did he just say that? Not only is it incredibly embarrassing, but it also sounds accusatory. 

To Eames' great shock, however, Arthur simply says: "Yeah, I know what you mean. I guess it's great proof that kids really are resilient." 

"Well it's not like they remember any of it. So far as they know they both grew up only children to single fathers." 

"True. But I always figured they'd be furious when they found out." 

"Well that might come in time. Forrest did say he was angry when they first figured it out at camp, but that Hugh talked him into calming down and learning more before confronting us." 

"Smart boy you raised." 

"Yes, well, yours was the genius who came up with the idea of switching places. I don't think Hugh would have ever taken it that far on his own." 

"He reminds me so much of you. Every day."

Somehow Eames knows that Arthur is talking about Forrest and not Hugh, even though the line of their conversation should indicate otherwise. 

"Hugh reminds me of you, as well," he says simply. "My god, taking him shopping is _exactly_ like I'm reliving the past. The time he spends deliberating between two seemingly identical items ... "

Arthur laughs. 

"It's not in every way, of course. He wears his emotions on his sleeve and doesn't keep them tucked away. But he's always watching, cataloging what he sees and hears, learning. That's pure you. " 

"He cried when he confessed. I bet Forrest didn't cry. I probably should have raised him to be less like me in that way." 

"I cried enough for the both of us," Eames responds, but he's not clear whether the both refers to he and Arthur or he and Forrest. No matter. It's true either way. 

"I get it. It's pretty overwhelming." 

"Actually it wasn't right away. It was ... well when I told him about my parents .. "

"Of course. That's only natural."

"And when ... he told me about ... . Did Hugh tell you about how they became friends at camp? How they figured it out?"

"He told me some of it. But nothing that would make _even you_ get choked up." 

"I want to tell you. It's so ... but I'm honestly afraid I'll start crying again if I even _think_ about it too hard."

"Wow. OK now you have to tell me." 

"If I do, do you promise not to laugh at me?" 

What is he doing? Is he flirting? This is a terrible idea. 

"I'm not sure I can make that kind of promise. I mean, not ever?" 

"Not tonight, darling." 

He realizes how that sounds the second it's out of his mouth. 

"What, you have a headache?" Arthur teases, not missing a beat, damn him. 

"This is not convincing me to tell you." 

"Fine. Don't. I'm sure Forrest will tell the whole story at least five times tomorrow when he gets here. I can hear it then. I'm honestly surprised he's only told it to you once so far." 

"Now you're just teasing me." 

"You make it so easy, Eames." 

So he tells Arthur about what Forrest had said, about backing Hugh up in the fight, even though he didn't like him yet, and about being an ambassador and all of it. He has to pause a few times when his voice starts wavering, but Arthur doesn't laugh at him.

"That's ... that's really something," is what he says. Eames can tell he's touched and proud, even if he isn't the sort to express it by blubbering. 

"You deserve a tremendous amount of credit for that," Eames says, meaning every word, wanting to say more, but he's unsure of what.

"It's not me; it's the group. It's been, God, a really important part of our lives. I couldn't have done this without them." 

"It never would have even occurred to me to join such a thing." 

"Of course it wouldn't." 

Arthur's tone isn't judgmental, just matter-of-fact. He knows Eames has always been suspicious of organized activity. Never even went to university. Struck out on his own as soon as he was finished school. 

"He likes it?" 

"Yeah, he has a lot of friends in it. We meet up with the one in Sacramento regularly and then a few times a year we do something with another group in the City. I just wanted to make sure he grew up knowing his family was normal and also that he had other people to talk to besides me if he was every worried about any of it." 

"Well it obviously worked. Jesus Christ." 

"Yeah, well, Hugh is clearly not bothered by his non-traditional family life, either. You must have done something right." 

"We're probably a bit co-dependent, honestly. I think he just follows my lead."

"Don't be self-effacing. We spent all day talking. He is clearly very well-adjusted." 

"He's a sponge. Picks up on everything. Internalizes it. I worried a lot about that when he was very small, because he'd overhear bits of conversation and put them together with remarkable intuition. So I learned how to use that, I shouldn't say use, it sounds so sinister. I learned how to tailor my parenting to those tendencies. Like, when he was five or six, I went out on a lot of dates, made them pick me up at home, so he could see that this was just normal life, nothing to be ashamed about, nothing to hide." 

Eames suddenly feels very nervous that he's just told Arthur about the madness of his two-year dating spree. That's the sort of thing that can get dragged out in a custody battle. Also, it's the kind of thing that might make a man jealous. It bothers Eames that at the moment he's more concerned about the latter than the former. He blames the wine, even though he's only had one glass. 

"That is ... well that's a very _you_ strategy, Eames. So you, what, led on a string of short-term boyfriends just so you could show your son that having a boyfriend was no big deal?" 

He's laughing though, for which Eames is immensely grateful. 

"Not even. I had ... I wasn't interested in dating anyone at all. Not even short-term. Just met them online, strictly one-offs."

"You're joking." 

"No." 

"So you, what, contacted guys on some dating site and agreed to meet up but said they had to come home and meet your _son_ first, but no strings attached, you didn't want to see them again?" 

"Yes. More or less." 

"And that _worked_?" 

Arthur is practically hysterical now.

"Not everyone agreed to it. But enough. It's not like I went out every night. The point was just to have a few dates a month, let Hugh get accustomed. Problem solved." 

"You are crazy. Did they come home with you at the end of the night too?" 

"Lord no. I'm not letting some stranger sleep in my house with my five-year-old son just down the hall! I wouldn't do that now, let alone when he was small." 

It feels exceedingly strange to be having this conversation with Arthur. But also good. It's a strange kind of relief not to pretend that he's been in some kind of celibate-dad stasis since they were together. And it's kind of thrilling, too, in a flirtatious way. 

"Never? Not once?" 

"Not once. I take it from your incredulous tone that you have?" 

"A couple of times. Once when Forrest was pretty little. Like five maybe. I got involved with a dad from the group. Huge mistake. I mean, I never intended for it to be serious, but when your kids know each other, it's hard for them not to get the wrong idea. It was confusing for them. Really, just a terrible idea." 

"I can imagine. See, this is why I don't join things," he teases 

"Shut up, asshole," Arthur tosses back. But Eames can hear the smile in his voice. 

"Did you have to change groups afterward?"

"No. It was awkward for a while though. Then he started dating someone else, someone not from the group, and then it was fine. He moved a year or so ago though. Upstate New York or something, I can't remember."

"Well I suppose it all worked out then. Forrest doesn't seem too scarred by the experience anyway." 

"That's the important part," Arthur agrees. 

There's a lull in the conversation, until Arthur cracks a terrific yawn and Eames realizes that he should let him go back to bed. 

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says as he rings off. 

He must be getting complacent, because he doesn't realize until the next day when they're on the plane that Arthur never told him about the second overnight guest. 

Forrest is fidgeting like a boy half his age and Eames, figuring it's nerves, is trying to coax him into relaxing. 

"What are you worried about? Whatever it is, we will set it right." 

"I think my dad has a boyfriend. I wasn't sure if I should tell you."

Eames' stomach shouldn't lurch like that. It really shouldn't. Nor should he be wondering what it meant that Arthur had _very clearly_ dodged discussing this fellow the night before, even though the matter was entirely relevant to the subject at hand.

"You think?"

"Well, like, two weeks before camp we were in San Francisco. We sometimes go to a Rainbow Families thing there, instead of in Sacramento. But before the event we met up with this guy, Robert, for a little bit at this restaurant. Then we went to the group after. I didn't think it was a big deal, because we meet up with my dad's friends a lot when we go to the City. Usually just dinner or lunch or whatever. Sometimes work people, sometimes friends from college. But then, like, two nights before I was supposed to leave, Robert came and spent the night at our house. I thought it was weird, but ... well my dad went out with this guy from group when I was little for a few weeks and he'd spend the night with his kids sometimes. So I thought ... maybe Dad would be broken up with Robert by the time I got done with camp. I didn't really worry about him at all when I was there. Honest. But then Hugh texted me that Robert has been hanging out there since he's been home and that they were supposed to go camping last night. I mean, I'm sure they didn't actually go, since Dad and Hugh waiting for us at home and since Hugh cut his hand and all. But ... I thought you should know." 

Eames counts to five in his head, tamping down his own emotions about this news, so that he can deal with Forrest's emotions about the subject instead. 

"Does it bother you, the idea of your father dating someone?" 

"Yes. I mean no. I mean, it bothers me the idea of him dating Robert." 

So this is the root of Forrest's fixation on reuniting his parents, Eames realizes. He's hoping Eames will get this Robert out of the picture. 

"Are you sure it's not just the idea of him being involved with someone else? Having to share his attention?" 

"I'm going to have to share his attention with Hugh and I'm not mad about that at all!" Forrest counters. "And Hugh doesn't like Robert, either!" 

"Are you sure Hugh wasn't just disappointed that there was another person around when he wanted to get to know his dad? Hugh and I are very insular at home, I'm sure you noticed." 

"No, it's not that. I swear." 

"Then what is it?" 

"He doesn't listen to me. He isn't interested in me at all. Usually I can tell if someone we meet up with is my dad's friend or someone he knows professionally, or whatever. If it's a work person, they shake my hand and then ignore me completely. If it's a friend, they tell me funny stories about dad, or listen to my stories about school. Robert acted like a work person, which is why I didn't get it when he showed up at the ranch, like, 'what's this boring dude doing here?'"

"I think you should tell your father how you feel about this." 

"But I'm telling you how I feel about it!" 

"Sweetheart, you can _always_ tell me how you feel about something. I am happy to listen and think through problems together. But I'm not the one dating this Robert fellow. Your dad is. He would _want_ to know how you feel. No matter what you might fear, I can promise you, in no uncertain terms, that whatever your father might feel about Robert , what he feels about you is far, far more important to him."

"How can you be so sure?" 

"Because I'm a father and I know how fathers feel about their children. And because I know your dad very, very well."|

"Do you have a boyfriend?" 

"No." 

"If you did, would you break up with him if Hugh asked you to?" 

Eames considers this long and hard. He knows the answer is that he probably would. But he also knows that isn't necessarily healthy.

"I would certainly listen to Hugh's concerns. Or yours for that matter. But what I'd do would really depend on the complaint. If the boyfriend was a bad fit for our family, then I wouldn't want it to last with him. But if you or Hugh wanted me to end it just so you could have me to yourselves all the time, well then we'd have to talk about boundaries. You wouldn't like it if I were to want to spend every second of the day with you would, you? Going to school with you? Going to baseball practice with you? Going along with you to your friend's houses to play?" 

"I don't know." 

"Right now you might like the idea, because I'm new to your life. But what if your dad wanted to spend all his time, every waking minute, glued at the hip?" 

"No. I want privacy sometimes." 

"Well grownups want privacy sometimes, too. And when you're a family you have to recognize the difference between wanting something that's selfish and letting the other people in the family grow and have their own interests." 

"What if Robert's there when we get home?" 

"I doubt he'll be there, given the circumstances. But if he is, then we'll deal with it like mature people." 

These words are just as much for Eames himself as they are for his son, who at least seems to calm down as soon as they've talked.

Forrest falls asleep soon afterward, apparently exhausted from getting all that off his chest. 

Meanwhile, Eames feels like the goddamned father of the year for having talked Forrest through all that when all he wanted to do was order a glass of wine chastise himself for even momentarily thinking that he and Arthur could ever, ever be anything more than co-parents to each other.


	5. Family Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where the story differs pretty much completely from the source material. I just wanted to spend time with Arthur and Eames and their relationship and not with the boys pulling pranks. I hope no one is mad. I tried to make it interesting and sexy in its own way, even without all that stuff.

**Arthur:**

Arthur doesn't know what he's doing.

But he knows why.

He is not an impulsive or reckless person. Nor is he particularly given to introspection. But in this strange situation, he can't quite seem to control himself, nor to stop fixating on what it will mean to have Eames come back into his life.

As a result, he's just not acting like himself. At all.

He should have told Eames about Robert.

But things had just been going so well between them, and Arthur hadn't wanted to upset whatever delicate balance they'd somehow achieved. It was so much easier just to flirt with Eames, as if there weren't years of emotional baggage between them.

Mostly he couldn't believe Eames let him get away with it. Where was the guy with the emotional hair-trigger and impossible-to-live-up-to standards that Arthur had married?

At the same time, he definitely should also be doing a better job of reassuring Robert about everything that's going on.

But he can't seem to help being irritated that Robert thinks he should be involved in the situation at all. 

Logically, he knows he's being unfair. Arthur's the one who had organized the canceled camping trip and then turned around and told Robert to stay home instead, because, guess what, his ex-husband is on his way, oh and by the way, he had two sons, not one. Surprise! 

But they just haven't been together for long enough that Arthur feels it's appropriate for Robert to have a say in his family life. And no bones about it, this is the most-important thing to happen in Arthur's family life since Eames left him all those years ago, taking Hugh away to England. 

Now Hugh is back and Arthur isn't going to let a three month-old relationship jeopardize them getting to know each other. That's just not an option. The fact that Robert can't understand that frustrates Arthur, even as he knows that Robert's objection has nothing to do with Hugh and everything to do with Eames.

The problem is that Arthur doesn't want Robert around when Eames is here. He wants to be able to rediscover this relaxed and flirtatious Eames without worrying about someone looking over his shoulder.

He knows that's wrong. He knows nothing will come of it.

But if they're going to be more involved in each other's lives as divorced parents, then they have to find a way to be around each other without drama.

Arthur leaves his office and goes to check on Hugh, who is waiting patiently by the pool. 

"Hey, buddy, it's time to change those bandages."

He's as stoic as ever while Arthur cleans the wound with a baby wipe and then pours peroxide over it. No sign of infection, thankfully. But he seems glum compared with the eager boy who had listened to every tidbit of their family's crazy story that Arthur had been willing to share the day before with wide eyes.

Arthur has never been the kind of dad who pries into his son's feelings. But he's starting to realize that's mostly just because he hasn't had to. If Forrest wants to talk about something, he won't waste any time in bringing it up. And if he doesn't, it's usually nothing to be concerned about, just schoolyard drama that's blown over in a day or two.

But Hugh is different. He must be accustomed to Eames either innately knowing what he's feeling or else forcing it out of him. Eames is good at both those things, Arthur knows.

He crouches down in front of Hugh in his best imitation of one his own father's studied Norman Rockwell-esque poses and asks, "what's up, Hughey?" allowing himself to use the baby name he and Eames had favored when the boys were tiny.

Hugh bites his lip and shrugs, the picture of teen petulance. Arthur knows that Forrest will be a holy terror when he enters this phase, but on Hugh it mostly seems to be about sadness.

"I can't fix the problem if I don't know what it is," he says gently.

Silently he asks for another few years when his kids actually think that he can solve every problem. In a perfect world, Arthur would be able to. He desires nothing more than the ability to face every challenge in life with skill and confidence. But the ridiculous joke of his family life proves that Arthur definitively cannot fix everything, even the one thing he'd wanted to more than anything else. 

Hugh's expression lightens a little though, so he must still think Arthur has some superpowers, thank God.

"It's this," Hugh says, holding out his bandaged hand. "I'm useless with it now."

"It's going to get better so fast. You'll be all out of bandages by the time you start school. I promise."

"I don't mind so much about that. Not really. It's ... I won't be able to help with anything. And I can't swim and I can't bicycle and I can't do anything athletic ... "

Arthur gets up and sits next to Hugh on the couch, considering how to deal with this. He very much doubts that Forrest is going to care about any of that. Maybe the swimming, but that's also the easiest to work around with a plastic bag and a rubber band and a watchful eye.

"I think your brother's going to be more interested in introducing you to his friends. This is probably the best 'How I Spent My Summer Vacation' story that anyone in the whole school is going to have. And as for helping, don't worry about it. Enjoy the break."

"But I like helping!"

Arthur has to repress a laugh. He doesn't know if Hugh is trying to impress him or is just being polite. But it's not a phrase he would ever expect to hear from Forrest's mouth. He'll have to ask Eames about it later.

"Well ... if you promise to be careful and to do everything I say, I'll let you drive the lawnmower in the back field."

Hugh's face lights up like it's Christmas morning. 

Eames and Forrest both text when their flight lands at SFO and Arthur is immediately nervous. Luckily, Hugh is fidgety and anxious enough that Arthur can focus all his attention on keeping him calm and doesn't have time to wallow in his own. Arthur has Hugh set the table, even though it will be hours before Eames and Forrest arrive in their rental car, just to keep him busy.

People always comment on Arthur's problem solving and "always be prepared" habits. But the truth is that _doing_ has usually been easier for him than _thinking_. 

He'd learned back as a teen to be the perfect Boy Scout in order to impress the father he'd hero worshiped and worked his ass off at it in order to avoid thinking about how to come out to him. And all the while he'd sneaking around with guys who were _much_ too old for him, probably subconsciously hoping to get caught. God Arthur's chest seizes at the thought of the things he got up to just a couple of years older than Forrest and Hugh are now. He would absolutely _murder_ any adult who laid a hand on his boys like that--it doesn't matter that he'd wanted it, sought it out in parks and bathroom stalls.

He looks at Hugh, who seems _so_ innocent compared to how Arthur remembered being, even at 12 when he was sneaking beers in the Morello twins' basement as they tried to figure out how to hack into the school system's server and look at their classmate's grades. Arthur just wants to preserve it for a little while longer. Well forever, preferably. But realistically, at least for a few more years, since he never got to be a part of Hugh's early childhood.

Even Forrest, for all his loud mouth, is such a ridiculously good kid. That's why Arthur has been dragging out revealing the big secret for so long, because he's been terrified of it turning into anger and lashing out and recklessness.

After he's done setting the table, Hugh sits down in one of the chairs and fidgets with the utensils until Arthur has to broach the subject.

"Why are you so nervous, Hughey? Is this about your hand again, or something else?"

"I'm worried about my father driving all that way. He never drives anywhere. We don't even have a car! And it's on the opposite side, too!"

"Your dad's a good driver. He knows these roads. It's been a while, but they haven't changed. Do you think I would let him drive Forrest home if I didn't trust him?"

"You've seen him drive?"

Arthur feels himself smirking. He can't help the flood of memories the question elicits.

"I _taught_ him how to drive."

"Are you teasing me?"

"No. I swear. I did. Before you were even born. He was a very good learner, although far too fond of backtalking the teacher."

Arthur had bribed Eames with roadside blowies after each lesson. Eames had been terrified of driving, because of his parent's accident, but Arthur hadd insisted he learn if they were going to have kids.

It's funny the things he hasn't thought about in years that now seem so vivid, as if they'd happened just yesterday. He can feel the way the parking break would always poke his chest uncomfortably as he leaned over and how Eames would fuss about Arthur accidentally depressing the release button and would take forever to come in his anxiety, so that Arthur would be in agony by the end. But he'd still race home afterward instead of allowing Eames to reciprocate, driving more recklessly than he'd ever encourage Eames to do, all so he could tumble him into their bed at home.

It's almost impossible to fathom how in just a few short years they went from that happy, horny, laughing couple to Eames being so angry about Arthur's choices that he he'd walked out and never came home.

They'd probably been too young, Arthur thinks. Ten plus years of life experience down the line he understands Eames' objections to the PASIV contract, even shares some of them. But at 28 with a still up-and-coming artist for a husband and two infant sons, finding a way to provide for them had been more important than anything else. He hadn't realized he'd lose half his family over the decision until it had been too late.

Hugh pulls Arthur out of his reverie.

"Will you teach me how to drive, too?" he asks, eyes bright with anticipation, as if Arthur is going to toss him the keys right now.

"Sure, in a few years, if you want, but for now, consider yourself lucky you got to ride the mower," he says, winking. "Forrest is going to be _so_ jealous."

Arthur puts on his apron and starts getting dinner ready while Hugh peppers him with questions. He's hovering over the grill trying to prevent the pizza crust from burning when they hear a car approaching up the driveway and Hugh goes bounding off around the outside of the house shouting greetings.

Arthur hadn't timed it so that Eames and Forrest would see Hugh first, but he has to admit it worked out nicely this way. By the time he removes the first of the pizzas and makes it to the driveway, Hugh is wrapped up in a bear hug with Eames and Arthur can take a second to look him over without anyone else noticing.

He looks _good_. Really good. Different--much bulkier and manlier than the boyish waif Arthur had first met all those years ago--but still incredibly sexy.

Trying to stay as nonchalant as possible he walks over to throw an arm around Forrest and ruffle his hair. The kid is practically glowing as he takes in the scene. Arthur helps him unload the bags until Hugh and Eames break apart, demonstrating that they are obviously the more-emotional pair.

The two boys are almost immediately whispering and giggling with each other, carrying the suitcases from the driveway into the house and leaving Arthur and Eames alone.

It's awkward.

There's no other way to describe it.

He tries to hug Eames and Eames tries to shake his hand. Then they switch intentions and are off from each others' movements again with Eames going for a hug and Arthur offering his hand.

Luckily Eames smirks instead of frowning when Arthur barks out a laugh and the tension is broken.

"I suppose this will get easier with time," he says

Arthur doesn't know if that means he feels the same dull ache in his chest at wondering how things might have been between them now if they'd stayed together. But he's certainly not going to ask.

"Here's hoping," he responds instead and ushers Eames into the house where the fridge is stocked with his favorite beer--or his favorite 12 years ago, anyway.

"You remembered," Eames says, sounding genuinely surprised and touched.

As if Arthur had forgotten anything about him ...

He excuses himself to finish grilling the pizzas, telling Eames he should make himself at home and then when Eames winces slightly, immediately feeling stupid for saying something so inadvertently fraught with meaning.

"Sorry ... that was dumb."

"Quite all right. It's clearly going to be a learning process."

"You uh ... you remember where the guest room is? It's all made up for you. Hugh even insisted on leaving chocolates on your pillow ... "

Eames laughs again and Arthur feels relieved that he hadn't screwed things up too badly.

"I told him the hotel where I'd stayed a few years ago on a trip for a gallery opening did that and he's done it as a welcome-home gesture ever since. Quite sweet, really. Honestly, I probably should have wondered that he didn't say anything when I did the same on his return from camp. I just ... "

"Who could possibly have guessed such a thing?"

Eames shakes his head with wonder as he heads for the stairs on the far side of the living room.

Arthur breathes a sigh of relief as soon as he's outside by himself. It's all both more and less comfortable than he'd imagined. More because they aren't fighting. Less because every interaction is a tightrope act of ways he has to avoid saying something hurtful.

He finishes the pizzas and before too long Eames and the boys have joined him on the patio. Hugh is even pouring glasses of iced tea and instructs his brother to grab the bowl of salad from the fridge. If Arthur didn't know better, it would seem like a scene from a perfect family Christmas card kind of life.

Forrest chatters incessantly throughout dinner, although Arthur's glad to see that Hugh isn't afraid to interrupt him whenever he wants to insert a point into the story of their exploits.

Eventually it settles down enough for Arthur to ask what they want to do tomorrow.

"I want Hugh to meet everyone from school. Except Megan Ellison, because she'll probably like him better than me and that's no good at all. Hugh, you're my best friend, but you can't steal her."

Eames looks amused.

"You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend."

"I don't. I just wish I did. She's super good at school and really into crafts and horses and pioneer stuff. She'd probably be all impressed by your accent and everything you know about art."

"Forrest has had a crush on Megan Ellison since kindergarten," Arthur explains.

"Eventually she'll realize that we're going to get married someday. After college but before our high school reunion."

Forrest is as serious as ever in his devotion, but he's a good sport about it. Arthur chuckles a little, because he can see that Eames can't tell whether or not it's OK to laugh.

Arthur knows that a lot of parents would ask Hugh if he has a potential girlfriend, too. But he spent way too much time dodging that question growing up himself, wondering how his parents and their friends would react if they knew what he really got up to in his free time. He'd never ask a kid something so weighted with heteronormativity, even his own, just in case.

Forrest had been very obviously straight from an early age, But in their week together Hugh hadn't said anything to indicate any kind of interest in girls, nor in boys. Arthur guiltily wonders whether he'd wish for one or the other to be the case, but forces himself to shake the thought out of his head.

Eames hides a yawn behind his palm and Arthur says he'll clean up if the travelers want to go right up to bed. He's not going to be able to sleep for hours.

Arthur let's everyone sleep late the next morning.

He's sure the boys were up to all hours talking in Forrest's room, where he'd set up an air mattress for Hugh. And Eames is probably exhausted, considering that Arthur had woken him up at dawn just two days before and he'd spent the whole previous day flying and in the car.

He goes for a nice long run and does a little gardening before he hears the rustling of activity from inside the house.

Damn. He'd hoped for a shower before seeing Eames again. Having breakfast in his tight, sweaty workout clothes seems too intimate for their situation. Oh well. Nothing he can do about it now now.

He has the coffee pot percolating and the kettle on and is chopping up veggies for omelets by the time Eames and Hugh head downstairs with wet heads.

"Can you take over, so I can dress his bandage?" he asks, a little startled at his presumed familiarity.

But Eames doesn't question it, just grabs the knife and gets to work.

Since Forrest is still in the shower and not around to get nauseated by the wound, Arthur washes and re-wraps it right there in the kitchen, so that Eames can see how well it's healing and how tough Hugh is about it all.

Not that that's likely to impress Eames any. As he'd always seen Arthur's own brand of stoicism as a subject for teasing rather than an achievement. Of course he had called Arthur his "sexy cowboy" a few times back in the day, but that might have been more about shirtlessness than toughness.

Forrest makes an appearance just as Eames is flipping an oversized omelet out onto a plate and Arthur finishes buttering and halving slices of toast. Perfect timing.

Arthur and the boys sit down to their eggs and Eames asks if he can have a bowl of cereal.

"Do you not like eggs anymore? I'm sorry. If I'd known I would have made something else." 

It's sort of awkward to discuss the ways they might have changed since they saw each other last in front of the boys, but Arthur has no idea when he'll have a moment alone with Eames to bring it up.

"I'm watching my girlish figure."

"You're joking."

"About the girlish part, yes."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Obviously, but you should be joking about all of it" he replies and lets his eyes roam a little bit. He can't very well protest that Eames looks fucking fantastic as is in front of their kids, but he can let Eames know silently that he's hotter than ever.

 _Not_ that Arthur is going to try to do anything about that. Their lives are confusing enough as it is. But he figures that if they can talk casually over the phone about fucking other guys then they can give each other off-hand compliments on their appearances.

But perhaps not, because Eames cuts his eyes at the boys and changes the subject to ask what they should do with their day.

"Maybe a trip into town this morning? The only place Hugh has been since he got here was the grocery store. We could walk around the square, get ice cream at Taylor Brothers, maybe pick up some fruit on the way home if any stands are open."

"Could we go to the movies?" Hugh asks.

"Sure, why not. I have no idea if anything good is playing, but we can check."

"Dad can we go to Group while Hugh is here? I really want him to meet everyone," Forrest says.

Arthur looks at Eames for assent and gets a nod and a crooked smile. He can tell Eames is thinking about the role Rainbow Families played in bringing the boys together.

"Sure. I think there's a picnic or something later this week. I'll look at the schedule. We were supposed to be going back-to-school shopping that afternoon but a picnic would be a lot more fun as a group activity."

"What ... what should we call you?" Hugh asks, looking between them. It seems a bit out of the blue, but he was probably prompted by Forrest calling Arthur "Dad." 

Arthur feels a pang in his chest. They'd talked about this a lot when the boys were babies, debating back and forth how to differentiate themselves when their sons were old enough to speak. They'd decided that Arthur would be daddy and Eames papa, at least until the boys were old enough to decide on something for themselves.

At a loss for words, he looks to Eames to take the lead.

"What would you like to call us?"

"We talked about it last night in my room and couldn't decide. Everything seemed too confusing." Forrest volunteers.

"If you're not comfortable, Forrest, you're welcome to call me Eames. Or, if that's awkward, since it's Hugh's surname as well, you may call me Oliver, although hardly anyone does. Perhaps that will make it something special between us."

Forrest smiles, considering this option.

"You can call me by name, too, if you want," Arthur jumps in. "Or dad, or father or whatever. Anything's fine."

"What did you call us when you put this whole scheme into motion?" Eames asks, because he's too smart for his own good.

"Other Dad," Forrest practically shouts. "Maybe I could call you OD?" 

"Bio-father," Hugh practically whispers. "But, I'm not going to call you that. Obviously."

Arthur feels a private rush of gratitude that Hugh doesn't want to call him something so clinical-sounding.

The day goes swimmingly, better than Arthur could have hoped. Eames is awed at the suburban sprawl that's reached their tiny downtown area, but left this historic square untouched. The boys seem to love the movie, even though Arthur thinks it was silly. 

They haven't been back home afterward more than two minutes when Arthur's phone rings. He closes his eyes and fights the feelings of annoyance welling up in him at seeing Robert's name on the caller ID. He shouldn't be irritated with his casual boyfriend of just three months, but he'd told Robert to wait a few days and it pisses Arthur off that he hadn't listened. 

Robert has shown signs of clinginess ever since that first night Arthur had had him up at the ranch. But nothing this extreme before. Of course, he's convinced that Arthur is up here with a romantic rival, which could bring out the worst in anyone. Arthur will try to be patient. 

On the rare occasion when Arthur talks about his misspent youth, he likes to play it that he ran around on the sly with the too-old-for-him, deeply closeted uncles and brothers and piano teachers and service industry bosses of his classmates because there were no other options available to him. (Orange County in the 90s had had a surprising number of underemployed twentysomething men who were happy to foster Arthur's early sexual development.) But the truth is that he liked the no-strings part of it. He could have spent time ever-so-slowly convincing one or two of his classmates to give it a shot. But why bother? 

Only two guys had ever seemed worth all the fuss to Arthur, and one of them is downing a glass of water in his kitchen right now. (The other, Arthur's first real boyfriend, Gibson McEwan, had broken up with Arthur when he left college to move to San Francisco and try to start his own company 19, insisting that he couldn't bring a dropout home to meet his family.) God, Eames, with all his hunger to replace his lost family should have been the last thing someone as commitment phobic as Arthur would have wanted, but somehow it had just clicked between them. 

These are really not the thoughts he should be having right now as he shuts himself in his office to pick up the call. 

"Robert, hi. Look, things are still really ... new here. Maybe another day or two?" 

"I'm already in the car," Robert responds. "I'm passing Davis right now." 

Arthur doesn't check his frustrated sigh. If Robert's not going to meet him halfway here then Arthur's not going to return the favor. 

"Robert, please don't do this. I am straight up begging you to go home for a few more days. Give me some time to sort this out a little more." 

"Arthur, if you're leaving me for your ex then just be honest and I'll turn around. Otherwise I'm coming to protect my investment." 

Part of Arthur is rolling his eyes and silently groaning at being referred to as if he were part of a business deal. Another part is a little bit thrilled by it. He'd worked so hard trying to find someone worth dating who wouldn't be put off by his remote location and his being a father. Somehow it worked and Arthur can't help feeling like he's succeeded beyond all expectations to have a guy driving three plus hours through afternoon traffic to stake his claim. 

"If those are my only two choices, then I guess I'll see you for dinner," Arthur replies and hangs up. 

He buries his face in his hands and dreads having to break the news to everyone else. 

When he rejoins the group Forrest and Hugh are already squealing and splashing around in the pool. 

"Can I talk to you for a sec? Privately," he ask Eames, inclining his head toward the glass patio door. 

Eames looks wary, which bothers Arthur more than it probably should. 

"I ... I probably should have mentioned it before now, but I'm ... uh, seeing someone." 

"All right. That's really not my concern, is it? You're free to see whomever you like." 

"Right but, he's on his way here, now. I ... I asked him to stay away for a few days ... we'd had a camping trip planned for last weekend, but obviously that didn't happen when I found out about the boys and ... well I just figured we could do with some privacy to work this all out, but he's, well, not handling it well, you being here." 

Whatever Eames makes of this information, Arthur can't tell. He's utterly poker faced when he wants to be. 

"If this bloke is a part of your life then far be it from Hugh or me to keep him away, Arthur."

He doesn't know how to respond to such a magnanimous statement. If he pushes the point, it will sound like he's trying to goad Eames into competing for him. Which he's not. But if he lets it go, then it sounds like he's being flighty and nervous about their current situation, which he'd prefer isn't Eames' impression. 

He settles for honesty. 

"I was kinda hoping you'd be mad, so that I could justify my own irritation that he's coming without being invited." 

Eames chuckles and the tension is broken. 

"It's not serious. I mean, it's new. It was supposed to be this uncomplicated foray into actual dating, to see what it's like. I wasn't really expecting ... "

"... to have all your complications turn up on your doorstep?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Sorry. No offense." 

"None taken."

"I don't think Hugh liked him very much, so that's another ... complication. I mean, if I'd known it was him and not Forrest I never would have brought some guy over, divided my time like that. I can't blame him for being a bit jealous, meeting his dad for basically the first time and having to share his attention." 

Eames smirks conspiratorially. 

"That's what he gets for being such a right sneaky little bastard and pulling one over on us both."

Arthur laughs again, grateful. 

The rest of the afternoon flies by. Arthur sits by the pool and reads a pulpy mystery while the boys splash around in the pool and Eames sketches the surrounding mountains. Arthur silently gives thanks that Eames doesn't swim, too. Arthur could not handle seeing Eames next-to-naked right now while he's trying to pretend that his heart isn't in his throat about Robert's imminent arrival. 

Later Arthur starts dinner. Eames offers to help, but Arthur says it's better if he occupies the boys instead. So they're playing some ridiculous card game on the patio and Arthur is grilling chicken wings and corn on the cob when Robert arrives, dressed to the nines in designer casual, not a hair on his head out of place. 

He kisses Arthur chastely on the lips and walks over to meet the rest of the family properly. Eames is a paragon of politeness, offering to take over cooking duties from Arthur so that he and Robert and the boys can spend time together. Arthur unties his apron and lets Eames pull it over his own head. 

It's all a bit confusing. Forrest hasn't seen Robert since before camp and seems to have forgotten about him in the meantime. Nevertheless, he offers to teach Robert Eames' game. Hugh had been dismissive of Robert last week, but now he's cautiously smiling. Arthur figures that Eames had probably told them to be on their best behavior, because they're being far too subdued for 12-year-old boys on vacation, much calmer than they'd been just minutes earlier. 

During the meal, Robert asks Eames about his artwork and Eames asks Robert about his life in the City, avoiding professional questions altogether. The boys mostly whisper to each other, indulging in their freedom to ignore adults while they still can. If they were a couple of years older, they'd be able to exercise the freedom to escape from this awkward situation to a friend's house, as Arthur had when his parents had hosted their embarrassing dinner parties--his mother imagining herself as akin to Nancy Reagan, his father doing his best Clint Eastwood impression. As it is, the boys are free to giggle behind their hands and speak in secret code about lord knows what, it's probably better if Arthur doesn't understand. 

After they finish, Robert helps Arthur clear the plates and clean up the kitchen, while Eames and the boys make themselves scarce. Arthur isn't sure whether he should appreciate the privacy or be annoyed at feeling left out from family time. 

Robert distracts him with nudges and kisses while he loads the dishwasher.

"Are you angry with me?" 

"I don't know," Arthur says honestly. "I wish you'd waited, but I'm trying to put myself in your shoes and understand how you must feel about all this." 

Arthur knows that he's lucky to have found a guy who didn't mind one kid, let alone a second being sprung on him at the last second. But deep down he still can't help feeling a little bit resentful that now he has to balance his attention between Robert and his kids. He doesn't even know what Eames and the boys are up to now. Not that he doesn't trust Eames implicitly, but what if it's some huge bonding moment and he's missing it for a few quick kisses from a boyfriend of three months?

Arthur shakes his hesitance off. Might as well make the most of it, he thinks and leans in to kiss Robert properly. 

"I take it you missed me?" he asks

"Obviously. Enough to brave commuter traffic," Robert replies 

They find the others in Forrest's room, where Eames drawing caricatures for the boys. For an artist with actual vision and all that deep-seated creative drive that Arthur doesn't entirely understand, even as he respects the hell out of it, Eames has a flair for cartoony, exaggerated portraits. Hardly anyone ever got to see them back when he lived with Arthur, but Hugh clearly is familiar, because he's offering reminders about details of people they met in town, including the girl at the ice cream shop and the ticket taker at the movie theater. 

Arthur suggests that maybe they could play another game of cards, or watch another movie. But Eames excuses himself to go to bed, mentioning jet lag. Arthur's sure he's just trying to stay out of the way.

Robert is scrutinizing the drawing in Forrest's hand. 

"Take good care of this," he instructs. "It's probably worth a lot of money." 

Arthur frowns and elbows Robert. He can see the boys rolling their eyes and trying not to laugh. He's glad they're not taking it seriously, at least. 

Robert looks wounded by their collective reaction, but Arthur ignores it.

But it's too late, the mood has turned and the boys decline the opportunity to hang out, favoring gossiping in their room. Robert and Arthur retreat to bed with the crossword. It's the only thing besides fucking that Arthur knows they'll always have fun doing together, no matter how annoyed he might feel at the moment. 

It works for a while, but Robert eventually brings it up, asking why Arthur was so annoyed about the comment, when he was only trying to praise Eames as an artist. 

"Because to Forrest, Eames isn't an artist, he's a dad, or he's starting to be anyway. To talk about that painting in terms of monetary gain is tasteless and devalues their relationship." 

"Well aren't you Mr. Family Therapy?" 

"I was trying to leave it alone. You insisted on talking about it." 

"Well excuse me for feeling like some kind of outcast in your home all of a sudden." 

"Well maybe if you'd waited a few days like I'd asked, it wouldn't be like this." 

Robert looks like he's biting back what he really wants to say. Arthur knows he should ask him, that they should have it out and decide whether or not to move forward. But he's suddenly exhausted and just wants to put this whole evening behind him. 

"I'm sorry. Look let's just go to sleep. We'll figure it out in the morning. The whole situation is crazy complicated. I appreciate your trying to be a part of it, even if I'm not acting like it right now." 

Robert acquiesces and they curl up under the covers. Arthur puts a gentle hand on his hip by way of apology. 

He's going to have to try to appreciate Robert's side a little more, or they'll never make this work. And while a break up wouldn't devastate Arthur, he knows he'll be lonely if Eames takes both boys with him to England in a few weeks. Hell even if it's just him and Forrest again, it'll feel empty around the house. Staying in Robert's good graces seems like a smart strategy. 

He wakes around Midnight and can't fall back asleep. 

He tosses and turns for a bit, but doesn't want to risk waking Robert He's a heavy sleeper but Arthur already knows can be grouchy if he's awakened unexpectedly (even by a blowjob, it turns out). So he throws on his robe and slippers and quietly walks downstairs. 

He doesn't hear any noises from the boys' room. They must have finally succumbed to exhaustion. 

When he gets downstairs though, he finds Eames sitting out by the pool with a beer. Not wanting to startle him too much, he taps lightly on the sliding glass door and waves, then pours himself a glass of bourbon and heads out to join him. Robert will flip the fuck out if he wakes and finds them together, but it would be extremely awkward at this point not to say hello.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"Mmmm no. My body clock is all bollocksed up, apparently. Thought a swim might help."

Arthur suddenly realizes that Eames' hair is wet and his feet and legs are bare beneath the robe from the guest room closet.

"Jesus, aren't you freezing?"

"It's a bit chilly. But the night is so beautiful. I so rarely get to see the stars like this."

"Here, hold on a sec ..." Arthur runs inside and retrieves a winter hat and some woolen socks from ski gear storage area in the hall closet.

"Here, put these on. You don't want to get sick while you're here."

"Arthur, you know that's an old wives tale," Eames tisks.

"Still ... just, won't you be more comfortable?"

"Ta," Eames concedes and pulls them on, laughing at how ridiculous he must look.

It's a little unsettling seeing Eames in Arthur's own clothes like this, even something as innocent as a ski hat and socks. When Arthur had first met him, when he was 23 and Eames a shockingly young-seeming now 21, Eames had been so willowy and small that they'd been able to wear each others' clothes. Arthur had delighted in dressing Eames, who had seemed to live in oversized painter's pants and plain black tee-shirts. The Eames of today is so different, hats and socks might be the only items of Arthur's he could even fit. 

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"My thoughts are much more expensive than that," Arthur teases. Then he adds, "I'm sorry about ... " he waives his hands in the direction of upstairs. "I know it's not the best timing."

"Arthur, you're allowed to have a life. One of us should."

Arthur looks up, unsure if Eames is just making a joke or is actually expressing dissatisfaction with the situation. His eyes are twinkling, but he's also frowning a bit. At least the poker face of this afternoon is gone.

"Hugh and I are a bit ... codependent, honestly. I'd be far too ... I couldn't divide my energy ... not that I'm in any way ... Fuck, never mind."

"I'm not insulted, Eames."

"Thank fuck. I'm trying to be magnanimous here, but I keep sounding like I'm judging you, which I'm not. You seem ... really like you've got it all figured out, Arthur."

"Is everything ... is everything OK?"

He's trying really hard to ask honestly and not sound critical. He can't tell if it works.

Eames winces, so maybe it didn't.

"No it's not like that. I mean, yes, everything is fine. Hugh is a happy, well-adjusted boy. Good student, the whole lot. It's only that when he was small I was really frightened, terrified actually, about losing him after everything that happened with your mum ... " Eames gives another wince "and then it just became sort of a habit. Us against the world and all that."

They're silent for a few minutes. It's not awkward, really. Just sad.

"She's not a part of Forrest's life," Arthur finally says. "You should know. I don't let her see him. She's not, we're not in touch. I've seen her a couple times--at my cousin's wedding and when they ... when they dedicated this little pocket square park to my dad. But I ... I told her she lost her grandmother privileges after ... everything that went down."

Eames is looking at Arthur with an expression he doesn't understand, but he knows it's raw. He doesn't know how to say anything in the face of it, so he takes another sip from his drink and waits. 

Finally he half-whispers," she sent me an invoice. It arrived after I'd been home for six months. Obviously, I couldn't repay her at the time, but I sent her every spare scrap of money I earned until it was down to zero. She sent a fresh one every time. Like I'd try to shirk payment."

Arthur shakes his head. "What a bitch."

It's hard for Arthur to explain, because it touches so closely on the source of all their fights way back when, but he has to tell Eames. He has to tell someone. Apparently his mother has found a whole new way to be an awful person.

"Eames. I tried to repay her. The minute I got my first check for the ... contract, I sent her the full amount. She refused it. I drove down there a few months later, handed her the check in person and she tore it up. I can't believe that all the while she was ... milking you for every nickle and dime. I'm so sorry. I wish ... " but he doesn't know how to end that sentence, so he just trails off.

He wishes he'd known? He wishes he'd given the money to Eames instead? He wishes he hadn't let their relationship fall apart? He wishes he'd never taken the PASIV contract to begin with? What? It's a black hole of regret he's looking down into.

Thank fuck Eames doesn't question it. He just downs the rest of his beer and stands up.

"I think I'll be able to nod off now, touch wood," he says and disappears inside, before either of them have time to say anything more about it.

The next day is full of awkward patches as Arthur tries to spend as much time with the boys as possible and Robert and Eames seem to be avoiding each other like magnets, each one getting up to leave the room when the other enters it. They're both perfectly polite about it, but it's still uncomfortable.

Arthur knows Eames is just trying to seem nonthreatening. He suspects Robert is trying not to intrude on family life after Arthur's irritation with him the day before. Whatever their reasons, it's exhausting trying to navigate their cuckoo clock entries and exits all day.

They go into town for dinner, prompting a whole negotiation about which cars to take and who will drive. In the end, Arthur drives Robert and Hugh and Eames drives Forrest. The waitress flirts with Eames ostentatiously, which leaves Forrest in awe (all this female attention for someone who doesn't even want it!) Hugh and Arthur rolling their eyes and chuckling at Eames' inability to deflect her. 

When they get home, the boys want to watch the Lego Movie (adorably Eames gets all teary-eyed at the end and tries to hide it). Afterward they insist on digging up Forrest's old pirate set to play with in their room before bed. Arthur is always amazed by how Forrest can switch back and forth between acting like a child and acting like a teenager in one day.

Eames excuses himself to the guestroom with his sketchbook. Arthur and Robert decide to tackle the crossword in bed again.

Although it turns out that Robert has other plans and is straddling Arthur's hips, rubbing against him with intent before they've even finished 10 down. Arthur sets the pencil and paper aside and pushes back against Robert's ass, unleashing a low, throaty growl from his boyfriend's throat.

He stops cold.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing," he scolds, using his best dad voice. 

"Arthur, I've been on my best behavior today. I think I deserve a little ... kindness from you."

Arthur flips them and pushes Robert down into the mattress.

"You think," he says, pressing one finger against Robert's lips and holding his body away from Robert's already half-hard dick, "that you can get a little noisy and stake your claim on me. But that is not going to fucking happen."

Robert's brow furrows and it's actually kind of sexy.

"This isn't about letting Eames hear us having a good time. If Eames has half a brain, and I know he does, he's wearing headphones or earplugs or something, just in case. But you know who aren't wearing headphones or earplugs? The two 12-year-old boys just a few feet down the hall who are _definitely_ still awake and _definitely_ paying attention to everything going on between the adults in this house. I want to fuck you. And I know from last week you can be quiet. But I swear, if you make any noise _at all_ , it's done, you can jerk off on the bathroom. Do we have a deal?"

Robert looks like he's trying to decide between turning this into an argument or just acquiescing to they can get to the fun part. Finally he nods, biting his lip, face overly solemn.

"In that case ... "

Arthur rolls Robert over and gently pushes his face toward the pillows, where he can muffle any noises he makes.He slides Robert's pajama pants down and pulls his hips up in the air so he can part his cheeks and push his face between them. He only intends to get Robert a little wet and then to fuck him. But Robert is such a slut for this and he's so quiet as he wriggles around on the mattress that Arthur can't help just licking into him over and over until he comes spectacularly all over the sheets.

Arthur is so keyed up by this point, and Robert is so boneless and worn out that he's lying in the wet spot and not even complaining about it. So Arthur rubs off against the cleft of Robert's gorgeously tight little ass, feeling relaxed for the first time all day.

Disturbingly, just before he comes, he thinks of Eames, lying back on a picnic blanket, thighs spread like some kind of ancient Greek statue, staring invitingly upward at Arthur.

Oh fuck! He should not be having thoughts like that about his ex-husband at all and _definitely_ , _definitely_ not be having them during sex with his boyfriend.

Robert is already dozing off into sleep when Arthur shoves him over and lays a used bath towel across the soiled sheets, since he can't exactly go out and raid the linen closet right now.

But Arthur's short-lived relaxation has evaporated after that half-vision, half-memory of Eames. 

The blanket and the sprawl was a memory from right when they'd first moved to the ranch, disgustingly smitten with each other. They'd bought some wine and some fancy sandwiches and had a picnic and fucked out under the open sky. But Arthur's thoughts weren't entirely from memory, because the Eames Arthur had seen in his mind's eye just before coming was Eames as he looks now, not the skinny waif of his early 20s. 

Fuck! Not good.

He tosses and turns next to the slumbering Robert, but can't seem to nod off at all. So eventually he gets back up and goes downstairs to the kitchen. That bourbon the night before had helped. Maybe it'll do the trick again ... He tries to pretend he's not hoping Eames will be down there too. But he is, of course, and Arthur can't deny the smile that spreads across his face when Eames waves at him through the glass.

The smile is immediately followed by a deep sense of embarrassment. He feels like Eames can _see_ right into his head and know what he'd been thinking about earlier. Even worse, he wonders if Eames is down here because he had somehow heard Arthur and Robert after all. God Arthur hopes not.

"Couldn't sleep again?" Eames asks when Arthur joins him again on the patio.

He's dressed more warmly this time, in sweats and slippers under his robe, but he's got Arthur's ski hat on again and it somehow feels unbearably intimate at the moment.

"My schedule's all thrown off, I think. I usually stay up late working, but everyone else has been going to bed early, so I've been trying ... I'm just, I don't know, having trouble nodding off."

"I'm was hoping you'd turn up again," Eames says, somehow able to state what Arthur couldn't even admit to himself without hesitation. "It gives us time to talk without little pitchers listening in."

Eames doesn't say, "or without your boyfriend making a stink about it," but Arthur's brain fills that part in, too.

"I hadn't though of that," Arthur says instead.

But his heart is sinking into his toes. He wants to keep pretending they don't have a huge decision to make. Arthur's "solve problems with actions, not thinking" philosophy doesn't really apply here and he's totally at a loss.

"I ... I have no idea what to do, honestly," he adds. He can't even come up with a half-baked suggestion.

Eames bites his lip and looks surprised. Arthur shouldn't find it sexy, but he kind of does.

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that."

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Arthur feeling as glum as Eames looks.

"Have you spoken with your lawyer?" Eames finally asks.

"No. I meant to call him, but, well I didn't want you to get here and it seem like I was gearing up for a fight. I know what he'd say though. We talked about it years ago. He'd say split custody, school years with one parent and summers with the other."

Eames looks stricken.

"Is that what you think is best?"

"No. I think it's fucking awful. The idea of spending months and months here alone. It makes me want to puke. Because, let's face it, any judge would give them to you during the year. You can provide better schools and you don't have to deal with snow storms and icy roads and ... ."

"Arthur no judge would grant me any rights to Forrest. I'm entirely dependent on your kindness in this situation."

"You don't know that. Things have changed a lot since ... since we ... since you ... in the past 11 years."

"Forgive me if I'd rather not risk finding out whether or not what you say is true."

"So you want to work this out just between us?"

"That would be my preference, yes."

"And we trust each other to follow the rules we set?"

Eames gives him a long, hard look.

"You can trust me, Arthur. I don't have any way of proving it to you, but I have no interest in putting the lives we've built apart from each other at risk and none whatsoever in causing any kind of emotional distress for Hugh or Forrest."

"You can trust me, too," Arthur responds.

He knows that he has more to prove on that front, having lied to Eames about the meeting with the Pentagon that started all their marriage problems. But Eames should know that Arthur would never, ever put their children at risk and that he'd only made the decision to take the military contract in the first place in order to be able to provide for their children.

"So then if we both loathe the idea of some kind of half-year split, what do we do? Carry on as we are and then swap?"

"I mean, that would work out really well for us. We'd get to have plenty of time with each boy, have normal school years with the one and then really spend time getting to know the other over the summer. I'm not going to lie about the appeal. I'd love to have a whole summer to show Hugh California and teach him how to play baseball and take care of the property and all the stuff my dad and grandad did with me growing up ... "

Eames interrupts: "perhaps not the baseball, but he decidedly wants to learn all those things from you. I don't know if you can see the way he looks at you, but you're quite obviously his hero at the moment. He absolutely worships this cool, new, self-sufficient American cowboy father."

Arthur can't tell if Eames is jealous or teasing or serious or what.

"Come off it."

"I'm utterly serious. Don't worry, I'm delighted by it. I do want him to like you, you know."

Arthur isn't an overwhelmingly emotional guy, but he feels like his heart is growing three sizes like the Grinch in the Christmas cartoon at the idea of Hugh looking up to him like that, the way Arthur had his own father. He wishes he could say something similar to Eames, but he just hadn't noticed any of this kind of stuff.

"I ... I'm sure that Forrest really likes you, too, Eames ... " he stammers.

"I think Forrest has his own plans right now that aren't really about me so much, or only incidentally."

Arthur frowns. What's Eames getting at here?

"I think he mostly wants to spend as much time with Hugh as possible."

"Right. Well that's what I was trying to say before. If we do the swap thing, then the boys don't get to have any time together, and they're already practically inseparable. So it's not really fair to them, as much as I'd like it."

"So then we're back to square one then."

Eames goes inside for another beer. When he comes back out, he changes the subject. Sort of. 

"So, this picnic tomorrow ... how will it work?" 

Arthur buries his face in his hands. 

"Fuck. I am so hoping I can dissuade Forrest from going."

"Is it ... I won't be cross if you'd prefer I stay home." 

"No, actually, I'd like you to be there. You are part of this 'rainbow family,' after all," he says, using air quotes. "But ... "

"But you don't think your boyfriend would approve of that." 

"Exactly. I mean, I'm not trying to be a dick, but people take it pretty seriously that we're not supposed to bring guests unless they are part of the family or potential members themselves. They wouldn't kick Forrest and I out for it or anything, but it's frowned upon. And even if it weren't, it's just not something I'm ready to do. Not now, maybe not ever."

Eames considers this quietly. Arthur appreciates that he doesn't tease or question what Arthur is even doing with Robert if he feels this way. He's really handling the Robert situation with so much, well, _grace_ is how Arthur would put it. It's his mother's word and he's surprised to find himself thinking of it now. She always strove for what she perceived as grace, although Arthur frankly didn't see it in her idols. 

"What if I stay home and ring my agent? Will that make it easier to break the news? Hugh and Forrest may be disappointed if I'm not there, but not so much as if they're weren't allowed to attend at all." 

"Would you be OK with that? I feel like a total dick even asking." 

"But you're not asking. I'm volunteering, which is different to asking."

"If you say so."

"I do. So is that a plan then?"

"I guess. I'm still going to try to talk Forrest out of it, but if he insists ... "

"No please don't. I want Hugh to experience it." 

Arthur is surprised by Eames' earnestness. He's always been kind of a loner, never interested in joining clubs or groups. It's probably because of Rainbow Families' role in the boys becoming friends, but it's still so out of character. Although lord knows divorce and 11 years of single parenting can change a man ... 

In the morning, Robert is more pliable than expected about the picnic. He probably doesn't even want to go, Arthur realizes. He just doesn't want to feel excluded from anyplace where Eames is invited. 

He also flatters himself to think that the sex they'd had the night before is taking Robert's edge off a bit. It certainly has Arthur feeling more relaxed. Or was that the conversation with Eames? Probably better not to dwell on that possibility. 

The absolute best part of the picnic is seeing Hugh make instant friends with all the kids there. 

Arthur's worried a little bit over the past week that Forrest would completely overrun Hugh, since he's the quieter of the two. But it's immediately clear that Hugh can hold his own in this group of kids and that everyone is impressed with his accent and his junior hipster clothes. Not to mention the excitement over Forrest suddenly having a twin and an amazing story to go with it. The two of them are immediately the most-popular kids at the whole gathering. 

Arthur, meanwhile, has to field a lot of questions about suddenly having another kid in tow. Not many people know his full story, just his closest friends in the group. He didn't want to risk any word of it getting back to Forrest if his friends overheard conversation between their parents. 

Thank God Ari and Yusuf are both around today. They both know everything and have his back explaining Hugh showing up without getting into the nitty gritty details of his split with Eames. There aren't many single parents in the group and they tend to stick together and sometimes to commiserate in the face of all the happy couples. 

After the initial excitement wears off, Ari hauls him off to help her grill burgers and dogs, but really to get the scoop on what's happening with Eames and Hugh. Sadly, he doesn't have much to tell her beyond the story Hugh and Forrest had already recounted for the whole group, savoring every second of attention. 

"I don't know, Ariadne. We talked about it a little bit last night when everyone else was sleeping, but there's no good solution." 

"You could get back together," she smirks. 

"Don't be an asshole. You know that's not an option." 

"Because of this new boy toy of yours?" 

"Robert? No. Not because of him. I'm half-furious with him at the moment. I swear if we hadn't fucked last night, I would have probably taken his head off by now. I specifically asked him not to show up until Eames and Hugh and Forrest and I had had a little time together to figure this out. I understand why he showed up, but it's really frustrating to have to balance what he needs from me with everything else that's going on." 

"If you feel that way, then why are you still together?" 

"Because, Ari, this situation is only going to last for another week or so. And then Eames will be gone and at least one of the boys will probably go with him, maybe both. And then I'm back to regular life here and I'll miss having someone around. I liked this dating experiment. It was finally going well." 

"But you're not, like, in love with him." 

"God no. We've barely been together at all, just a few months. Love?" 

"I get that, Arthur. But three months is long enough to know if your relationship is going somewhere or if you're just biding your time." 

"Biding my time, I guess. I don't know. Maybe it could get serious if we had the space to figure it out. If ... I don't know. Why can't we just keep going like this? He can fuck other guys. I don't care. I don't want him to move in with us. It's just nice having someone around sometimes. He's hot. He's a great dresser. He's great in bed. He's really good at the crossword ..." 

"Are you sure he doesn't think there's something more?"

"What? No! Why would he. We've never talked about ... exclusivity or anything." 

"But you introduced him to your kid, Arthur. And he drives three and a half hours to come to your house. What's he getting out of this if he doesn't want something real from you?" 

"He gets to spend the weekends with me and have his weeks free to do whatever he wants without my asking about it. Or caring. Neither of us is lonely, but no one is demanding much from the other, either."

"Not being lonely? Is that all you want from your life, Arthur?"

"No. Obviously not. But what I wanted from my life walked away. So I'm trying to make due here. I was doing fine with the occasional one-night-stand when I spent the night in the city for 'work.' Now you're telling me I'm doing it wrong?" 

"I'm just saying three months is long enough to fall in love with someone. When I met Jill, I knew after, like, a month ... " her voice catches as she talks about her wife, who'd died fighting a forest fire when their son, Liam, was only six months old. 

Arthur rubs her shoulder affectionately. Neither are very physically demonstrative people, but it's enough to tell her that she doesn't need to say anything more. 

"I'm sorry," he adds. 

"No, it's my fault. I ... I just think you should talk to Robert, so you're not leading him on. And talk to Eames. You said you're getting along so well. Maybe ... I know you still have feelings for him, Arthur. Maybe he does, too. For you, I mean." 

"Ari, if he had feelings for me, he would have come home a long time ago ..." 

Arthur shakes his head, wishing Ari would just listen to him. 

"What do you think they're doing back at your ranch, anyway?" she giggles. 

"God knows. Passive aggressive macho posturing? Hiding from each other in separate rooms?" 

"Bonding at long last over your foibles?"

Arthur laughs. 

"Fucking?" 

He shudders. Even as a joke the idea is abhorrent, made all the more so that he has the experience with both of them to actually picture it in his mind's eye.

"Please never say anything like that again. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little." 

"You're such a horndog, Arthur. Are you telling me you wouldn't want to be in the middle of that sandwich?" 

"I think you just described my worst nightmare, actually." 

He's actually pretty nervous when they pull off into the driveway later that evening. He has no idea what to expect and hopes the tension isn't going to spoil the mood. 

Eames comes out to meet them in his robe and slippers, still wet from the pool. The boys immediately accost him with stories from the day and Arthur sneaks upstairs to find Robert napping in his bed. 

He kisses Robert awake and thinks about what Ari had said. But he can't bring himself to have a "serious relationship talk" now, when he's mostly just relieved not to find Eames and Robert at each other's throats. (Or the other thing. Shudder.) 

They kiss for a little bit in bed, while Robert regains consciousness and his sleepy sweetness reminds Arthur why he liked him in the first place. He's feeling generous again, so he pulls Robert into the bathroom and sucks him off quickly and hard, before sending him back downstairs to avoid suspicion and taking care of himself during a quick shower. 

Arthur's a little thrown off by his lack of demand for reciprocation these past two days. It's really not like him at all. He's been called kind of demanding in the past. 

It might be guilt over not feeling about Robert the way he apparently should, according to Ari. Or it might be an attempt to focus on one of the few things between them that he knows absolutely works, even when he's confused about almost everything else. Or it might just be in Arthur's nature to cling to sex when he's frustrated or worried. 

He remembers those last few months before Eames left. They'd fucked like crazy, in this desperate, raw way. Nothing like how they'd been before. When things had been great between them, Eames had always been insanely cuddly afterward, glowing and praising Arthur to high heavens, wanting to go over every tiny favorite detail. Then when things were falling apart he'd stopped all that and just laid there afterward catching his breath, not touching Arthur and not saying anything. Arthur always wondered if Eames had been chastising himself for letting it happen. For his own part, Arthur had wondered every time if it was the last, until eventually it was. 

Fuck, but he has to stop thinking about Eames like this, about them together. It's only making everything harder. 

Eames and the boys go outside to look at the stars on a blanket after dinner. Arthur wants them to have some time alone, since he'd been with them all day, so he and Robert go up to bed and do the crossword, as has become their habit. 

Robert wants to fool around again, repay the favor of the past couple times, but Arthur wants to keep the door open so he can say goodnight when the boys come up to bed. 

Eames is practically carrying Hugh when they finally come in and Forrest's face has crease lines from being pressed into the blanket. As Arthur suspected, they're crashing hard after such a busy day. 

Eames heads to his room, too, and since he already went swimming this afternoon, Arthur suspects he won't come back out again for secret Midnight chat. 

When a half hour passes with no giggles drifting from down the hall, he relents and lets Robert suck him off, keeping a pillow pressed over his face the whole time. He falls blissfully asleep almost immediately afterward, not even reciprocating. Let Robert be the one to take care of himself this time. 

He wakes just before dawn refreshed and determined not to get bogged down in awkwardness, no matter how Robert and Eames act toward each other. 

He dresses for gardening and tiptoes downstairs, but finds Eames in the kitchen with with two cups of tea. 

"Your espresso machine frightens me," he says. "But I was hoping to catch you so we could discuss a possibly, probably, mad idea I had." 

Arthur's heart rate picks up at that. Whatever Eames is suggesting could change both of their lives forever. 

He takes his cup of tea and walks out to the patio. 

"OK let's hear it." 

"Would you be willing to consider ... what would you think about ... Christ this is difficult. Why am I so nervous? Do you have a schedule for Forrest's school year? Because I was thinking ... Hugh's school resumes in a little over a week. There isn't really time to formulate a proper plan without disrupting his routine even further than we already have. But half-term is in October and he'll have a week's holiday then and two week's at Christmas. Perhaps we could ... visit? Or meet somewhere neutral? Then the boys will be able to see each other and we'll get to see them. It's not a perfect plan, but it's something to which we can look forward while we figure out a better one. What do you think?"

Arthur is a little bit dumbstruck. 

It's true that he's enjoyed spending time with Eames on the phone and in person these past few days. But the idea of making this a thing, of getting together regularly. It's scary.

It's easy to be pleasantly surprised when something you'd dreaded for years didn't turn out to be nearly as bad as you'd thought. But it's another thing to make a permanent place for that thing in your life. 

First of all, it's been pretty easy, so far, to avoid talking about the things that had split them up in the first place, mainly Arthur's source of income being something Eames found abhorrent and Arthur having lied about it a few times. But if they become a regular part of each other's lives again, they're going to have to hash it out eventually and it's probably going to ruin whatever fragile peace they have at the moment. 

Secondly, Eames has been incredibly generous and kind about Robert hanging around during their bizarre family reunion. It's totally unfair, but Arthur knows he'd be a total asshole if Eames showed up at Christmas with some boyfriend. He'd be jealous and he'd be nervous about some strange man spending time with his kids and he'd be mad at himself for not being able to keep his emotions in check. 

"Is it ... do you have plans already with Robert?" Eames asks. "Because I understand if this is not convenient. It was just an idea."

"No, no plans. I don't even know if this will last until Christmas," Arthur says, feeling guilty about saying such a thing to Eames after he'd been being sweet to and having sneak-sex with Robert for the past two days. 

But it's the truth. Ari is right that Arthur will have to make a decision about his relationship soon. He just hopes he can put it off until after the far more important decision about his kids. 

"No I think it's ... maybe a good idea. I have to check the school schedule, see if it even lines up. I mean, you'd definitely have to come here for the October thing, or else I'd have to take Forrest out of school for a week ... Hold on, let me grab my phone. I can look it up." 

He grabs his phone and a pad of paper and they're hunched over the patio table brainstorming the way to maximize their time together while disrupting the boys' schedules as little as possible when the door slides open and Robert clears his throat. 

Arthur feels immediately guilty and then irritated, because he has no reason to and has done nothing wrong. 

"We're just planning out times when the kids could meet up throughout the year," he explains. 

He gestures to a chair, so Robert can join them, but privately hopes he doesn't. 

Robert stays standing, but glares at them, so that Arthur has no choice but to retreat to the kitchen with him. 

"What's wrong?" he asks, defensive. 

"I don't know. You tell me."

"What? I ... nothing is wrong." 

"I didn't expect to come down here and see you having a little ête–à–tête with your ex. And I _really_ didn't expect the two of you to be colluding about future vacation plans without even _consulting me_."

"Robert," Arthur says, pained. "I like you. I really do. We've been having a great summer together. ..."

"Don't, Arthur. Spare me the breakup speech."

"Goddammit! I'm not breaking up with you! I'm trying to explain ... "

Out of the corner of his ear he hears a door opening and walks out into the living room to see Forrest and Hugh crouching behind the balcony railing, attempting to eavesdrop on the rest of this conversation.

"Boys!" he says calmly but firmly. "Please go outside and join your father on the patio."

"But dad, I'm still in my PJs!" Forrest whines.

"Now! I mean it."

He waits until they're outside and the door is closed behind them, trusting Eames to take charge outside, and then rounds back on Robert.

"As I was _attempting_ to explain, I am _not_ breaking up with you. I like you, Goddammit. But this is a new thing between us. I don't even know if we're exclusive, and that's fine, you do whatever you need to do. But I have to make decisions about my children in the long term, aside from whatever is going on between us. Because this might go somewhere or it might not, but my responsibility to my family is _forever_ , Robert. Can't you understand that?"

Robert is quiet and Arthur realizes that he really doesn't know anything about Robert's family. Maybe he _can't_ understand why fatherhood is the most-important thing in Arthur's life. Fuck. Arthur is a _horrible_ boyfriend.

Finally, in a hushed voice, he says: "You didn't think we were exclusive? Are you fucking kidding me? Arthur, you asked me to meet your son! I spent nearly a week here with the two of you. I drove up here and endured three days of awkwardness with your ex-husband and told you it was because I was staking my claim on you and _you still didn't know we were exclusive_?"

"Well when you put it that way ... " Arthur tries for sheepish and self-effacing.

He's failing.

"It's no wonder you're divorced. I can't believe I've spent days feeling _jealous_ of your ex. I should be laughing at him."

Arthur frowns, a long-buried instinct to protect Eames kicking in unexpectedly. But he bites his tongue.

"But I can't fucking help it, because here you are _bending over backward_ to accomodate him, when for all intents and purposes he's not Forrest's father. You're so blinded by ... something that you can't even see he's _terrified_ of you taking the other one away. You don't have to make all these special plans and whatnot. Eames'd do whatever you told him to, just to keep him. The problem is you _want_ to make those plans ... "

"Just shut up," Arthur interrupts him. "Are you trying to get me to throw you out? Is this some kind of manipulative bullshit? Because I am really close to just asking you to leave."

"You don't have to ask. I'm done," Robert says and storms upstairs.

Arthur takes a few deep breaths. He's dangerously close to tears. Not because of losing Robert, really, so much as that he feels like a complete failure of a human being right now.

The patio door slides open and shut. Thank God it's Eames and not the boys.

"Is everything all right?"

"Can you just ... I'm going to go out and do some work in the back fields. Can you just look after the kids? _Please_?"

"Of course. I'll get them dressed and we'll go into town. Don't give it another though. Everything's handled."

Arthur is torn between whether he should make one last attempt with Robert or just let him go. He knows Robert was trying to get a rise out of him saying all that stuff. But at least part of him must believe it's true, and Arthur doesn't think he could ever forgive him for it. Fuck this sucks."

He spends nearly the whole day doing chores. He's been slacking a bit lately with everything that's been going on, plus it just feels good to take his aggression out like this on something productive. He'll probably be achingly sore tomorrow, but it's worth it. 

Eames texts him at some point in the late afternoon. Arthur says they should come home and heads inside for a long, hot shower. 

He can hear the boys splashing around outside when he leaves his room. They must have arrived while he was drying his hair and couldn't hear the car on the driveway. 

"Cocktail?" Eames calls from the kitchen table, where he's perched keeping an eye on the pool. 

"Beer, I think," Arthur responds, with a grateful nod. 

"We had pizza. I brought you some takeaway. Olive and pepper." 

Arthur smiles. 

"You remembered." 

"Course." 

"Did everything go OK? What did you guys do all day?" 

"I drove over to that trail I used to like, you know the one with the view out to the west and you pass that funny old house?"

"Yeah. Haven't been there in _years_." 

"Well we trekked around a bit. Had a little picnic. I bought some horrid egg sandwiches at that petrol station. There were ladybirds everywhere, are they breeding? Did some shouting off the hilltop view, like in that horrid film. Does Forrest like it? Hugh is absolutely mad for it and I think I'm going to go round the twist every time he wants to watch it again."

Arthur shakes his head. He has no idea what movie Eames is talking about, actually. 

"Then we went into town, hung round that posh bookshop. I bought them each a novel, I hope you don't mind. Went to the cinema. Had pizza. That about covers it." 

"Were they ... ? Did they ask about ...? Do I need to talk to them about Robert leaving?" 

"Hugh asked after you. Forrest asked if Robert would be returning. They both seemed ... a bit out of sorts. But nothing that can't be fixed." 

Arthur's heart pangs. 

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have let my anger get the better of me like that." 

"Arthur, I know you like to believe you're some great Western stoic cowboy, but you are allowed to have feelings, you know." 

Arthur is unable to retort. First of all, he associates that kind of teasing from Eames with decidedly sexier activities and it's throwing him off. Secondly, he knows that if he'd been here alone, he'd have sucked it up and spent the day with Forrest all on his own. It was great to have Eames around to pick up the slack, but he knows it's not something he can let himself get used to. 

Arthur is opening his second beer and digging into the pizza box when the boys pile out of the pool and come running to the house. 

"Dad, do you want to play catch?" Forrest asks. 

It's an incredibly sweet gesture, and Arthur says so. But Hugh can't join them with his hand still injured. He suggests a board game instead. 

The boys run upstairs to change, bickering playfully about which game to pick. When they come back minutes later--Forrest in mismatched pajamas, Hugh with his hair combed immaculately--it's down to Settlers of Catan or Apples to Apples. 

Arthur defers to Eames, who has never played either one, but naturally chooses Apples, preferring a social game over a strategic one. Damn him. Arthur is great at Catan. 

But Eames is _killer_ at Apples to Apples. It isn't even close. 

"I think you're hustling us," Arthur says when he picks Eames' card for the third time in a row. "You've definitely played this before." 

"I swear, darling, I haven't." 

Forrest giggles at the endearment. Hugh doesn't bat an eye, which is encouraging. It means Eames probably talks like this all the time. 

But Eames' ability to get inside Arthur's head and make Arthur pick his cards over and over again? That's probably not something he could do with just anyone. Now Hugh frequently selecting Eames' cards, Arthur gets, considering how close they are. But Eames shouldn't know him this well after all this time. 

Except then something happens and he starts getting into Eames' head, remembering all the quirky little ways his brain ticks. And it's kind of an amazing feeling, _knowing_ another adult like that. It's not something he experiences much. Yeah he's close with Ari and Yusuf and he has some friends from growing up and his year at college. But a lot of his life is pretty walled off, intentionally so. 

Of course, even with this late-game surge, Arthur still can't make a dent in Eames' lead. Forrest comes in second and Arthur and Hugh are tied for third with just one less card than him each. 

They go to bed afterward. Arthur's exhausted from his day gardening and landscaping, but he can't seem to nod off. Unbelievably, he thinks he might miss Robert. Or not Robert, specifically, but having someone next to him in bed. 

How the fuck is that possible? He's slept alone every night he's spent in this room between his ill-fated relationship with Dominic Cobb from Group when Forrest was five and the first night he'd brought Robert here earlier this summer. 

He rolls on his side and looks at the place where Robert's come is still staining the sheets. He hasn't had time to change them without the boys or Eames noticing. Eames would understand, of course, but Arthur would be embarrassed. And the boys, well no kid wants to think about his parents having a sex life, particularly under the current circumstances. 

He makes a note to himself to store extra sheets in his room if he ever tries to have another boyfriend.

He kind of wishes he'd fucked Robert that night after all. He certainly would have if he'd known it was his last chance. Ever since Forrest, well actually Hugh, had come home it had been mostly a game of trading back and forth unreciprocated quickies. 

He wonders what it would be like now if he'd been married all this time. Would he and Eames still be as hot for each other as they had as newlyweds before the boys were born? Or would they have settled into sleepy bedtime cuddling and occasional Sunday morning blowies or handies in the shower before breakfast? 

Honestly, Arthur thinks he'd be OK with that. 

Maybe it's because he's getting old. Maybe it's because the Dominic Cobb disaster taught him to think of Forrest's happiness over his own sex drive (even if Ari's right and his natural inclination is to be a horndog). Maybe it's that even non-penetrative sex with someone with whom he actually feels comfortable and doesn't need to constantly second guess sounds like heaven right now. 

Not that that'll be happening anytime soon. 

He wants to go downstairs and have another drink. But now that he's officially single, he doesn't know if it's appropriate to hang out with Eames alone late at night like that. 

He knows Robert wouldn't have thought it was appropriate if he'd ever caught them at it. But somehow it had seemed safer for Arthur. He could enjoy Eames' company, get to know him again, without risking of overstepping and making things complicated between them. There had been a hard line of his own relationship separating them and stopping things from getting weird. 

And Arthur isn't stupid. He could let it get weird so easily now. 

Eames looks _good_. And he's charming and funny and helpful and he understands Arthur, probably better than anyone else ever has or will. 

Fuck. 

But he _really_ wants that drink. And maybe Eames won't even be down there. Maybe he's thinking Arthur needs his space after Robert's outburst this morning. 

Arthur goes downstairs. 

And Eames is there, sitting at the kitchen table. He offers a halfhearted grin, like he's not sure how to react to them meeting up like this again. 

Arthur pours himself a drink and joins him. 

"I'm really sorry, Arthur." 

"You have nothing to apologize for." 

"I should have waited to talk to you in a more public way, at a decent hour."

"That's dumb. We needed to talk about the kids. It made sense to do it while they were sleeping. And, yeah, so seeing us ... planning Christmas vacation or whatever is what made Robert fly off the handle. But it's obvious it was never going to work out anyway. If it hadn't have been that, it would have been something else." 

"Arthur, you don't have to make excuses. Perhaps it would have been something other than that particular confrontation, but you cannot deny that my being here is what ballsed everything up, at the end of the day." 

"No. You just speeded it all up. I had fucked things up long before I called you last week. I just didn't realize it until this morning." 

Eames offers his beer bottle up for a conciliatory clink. Arthur downs his glass and pours another. 

He's going to let himself get a little drunk tonight. Then he's going to sleep through chores and working out in the morning and make everyone pancakes. No waffles. And Eames is going to eat them, dammit. He looks great the way he is. 

He isn't drunk enough to say that out loud. Thank fuck. 

"It's not so much that I care about Robert taking off. Or that I miss him. But I do kind of feel like a failure, in general." 

Eames doesn't say anything. What can he say, really? He's the other half of Arthur's biggest failure in life.

"It was this experiment I wanted to try, now that Forrest is older, see if I could date. The answer is no, apparently I can't." 

He pours another drink. 

"At least you tried," Eames says. "I realize that's trite. But, honestly, coming from someone who hasn't even remotely tried, you may consider me impressed, even at your so-called failure."

"I mean the last time I even _half tried_ anything like this, Eames, you can't even know. Epic disaster. Forrest was five, so that's seven and a half years ago? I'd just joined Group and I was too stupid and ... too lonely ... sorry ... to know that getting involved with other parents in it is a bad, bad idea. Or at least getting involved without serious intent or whatever. Without, you know, getting to know each other first. There was this other divorced dad who stared around the same time. He'd just come out. Was like a lost little lamb. Really, uh, really hot. Two kids, six and three, staying with him for the summer. It seemed like an OK idea to get back into the swing of things with another guy in a similar boat."

"So what happened then?" Eames asks. He seems genuinely interested. 

"It lasted for a few weeks, a month and a half, probably. He was fucked up, guilty about leaving his wife, about lying to her for so many years, you know. So I tried to be cool and just have fun. Forrest and his kids liked each other. So we'd hang out, have play dates and they'd all stay over after. Win win. No need for a sitter. No need to be lonely. Until one night his fucking ex-wife shows up in the middle of the fucking night and threatens to burn my fucking house down." 

Eames' mouth drops open. 

"You're having me on." 

"No. I swear. She had this book of matches from a bar in town. I don't know if it would have been enough, but you never know with the dryness and the wind. Something could catch. She was trashed. I was honestly, even as angry as I was about her showing up like that, relieved she hadn't crashed on her way up the hills. I didn't want her anywhere near Forrest. I told him and the other two to stay in his room and not come out under any circumstances. I didn't want her getting back in her car. Dom's out there on my lawn, fucking crying at her, half apologizing, half livid." 

"What did you do?" 

"I called the cops. I didn't know what else to do. I wasn't going to let her come inside and sleep it off, not after she threatened arson. I couldn't let her leave like that. So this officer shows up, hauls her off to the drunk tank. Dom takes his kids and goes home. I'm not a total asshole. I told him he should let them sleep. But it was obviously over. I couldn't have my home and child threatened over a casual fling. I didn't bring anyone here again until this summer."

He stands and walks to the kitchen. 

"Are you hungry? I'm starving."

He puts a few slices of pizza in the toaster oven and leans against the counter to watch that it doesn't get too crispy. He tilts his head for Eames to join him, so they can keep their voices low as they talk. 

"But you know what the even worse part is?" Arthur asks. 

"What's that?" 

"That fucking cop's kid is in Forrest's class at school. So every time we have some parent's night or class concert or field day or whatever I have to be all casual and chummy with this guy who has come to my house at two in the morning to haul my lover's hysterical ex-wife off to jail while our collective children cower in the house. I can _feel_ him judging me." 

Eames is closing his eyes biting his lips, fighting off laughter. He loses the battle, shaking with it, trying to stay silent. 

"Fuck you," Arthur says, but with no malice. "You are the only person in the world I would let get away with laughing at that story. So you'd better enjoy it." 

And then he's laughing, too. It's a relief. He's drunk. He's just been dumped. He's having some kind of weird confession jag with his ex. And the whole thing is just so fucking hilarious. 

And Eames is luminous in the low light, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, grinning at Arthur like they're co-conspirators in this fucked up life Arthur's living. 

And before Arthur quite knows he's doing it, he's stepping forward and kissing Eames. 

His mind catches up with his body and he realizes he's pressing Eames up against the counter, fingers digging into Eames' hips, making out with him like the world is ending. 

The world might be ending. 

Eames feels unbelievably fucking good. Familiar, yet different. He tastes exactly the same. Arthur is having one of those weird deja vu moments. 

Eames is hoisting himself up on the counter and wrapping his legs around Arthur's waist. And Arthur is reaching up to cup his hands around Eames' face. 

Eames groans, long and low, and then pulls away. 

"Arthur this is not a good idea." 

Arthur stares up at him stupidly. It seems like an excellent idea to him. 

Eames gently pushes Arthur back and hops down. 

"It's ... the boys. This could be very confusing for them." 

"It could. But they don't have to know." 

"They might be watching or listening right now. They've been ... I didn't want to tel you but, Forrest is definitely and probably Hugh, too, hoping to get us back together."

Arthur's drunken fog lifts. 

"What? Wait what." 

"It's .. I don't know. It might have just been a whim. He might have seen me as a useful tool for displacing Robert. But he very strongly hinted that he'd like that to be the outcome of this little visit." 

"OK, let's switch gears here. Make some coffee, or some tea, and talk this out. I ..."

So Eames makes tea for both of them and they sit and he explains everything Forrest had said in London and on their trip and noted once again that he had been very interested that afternoon in whether or not Robert would be coming back to the ranch.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Arthur asks, now nearly sober between the caffeine and the pizza and the seriousness of the discussion. "My son, _our_ son, didn't like my boyfriend. I should know that kind of thing."

"I'm sorry. I really am. But I just didn't know how to ... I didn't want it to seem like _I_ was trying to split you up. Or interfering in any way. And I honestly couldn't figure out how to address it without sounding that way. Also, Forrest had only met Robert twice. It seemed likely to me that it was less about him disliking Robert and more about him disliking you seeing someone. I tried to explain that this is the sort of thing families have to compromise about, but I hadn't made Robert's acquaintance yet at that point and there was only so much I convincing I could attempt to do."

Arthur rests his head on his arms.

"I guess it doesn't matter anymore anyway," he says.

"Thank you for saying that, 'our son,'" Eames responds. "It ... It means quite a lot to me that you think that. Many wouldn't."

"Of course he's your son. I would never, ever, even in my darkest time have considered otherwise."

"I know. But I want to make it clear how much I appreciate it."

"Robert said ... I'm sure he was just goading me into losing my temper, but he said Forrest wasn't yours and he ... he said you were terrified of me taking Hugh away. Is that true? Are you?"

"Yes and no. I'm being honest when I say that I trust you and that I believe that you consider the boys as much mine as yours. But I'd be lying if I didn't admit that the reason I delayed contact between us for so long was that I was bloody terrified of you deciding you felt otherwise. I didn't want to even so much as _consider_ it until I'd paid your mum in full. And then it was just a habit and I was scared of disrupting the closeness of my relationship with Hugh. Once more, not terribly healthy, I'm aware."

Arthur looks at him. It's actually physically painful to hear that even some small part of Eames was scared Arthur would try to take Hugh away from him. But given everything that happened with Arthur's mom, how can he blame Eames?

"I wouldn't have ever, Eames. Not in a million years. I promise. I won't ever. No matter what. That will never change."

Eames looks a tiny bit teary eyed, the sap.

Arthur is terrified he's going to try to kiss him again.

He's even more terrified he'll admit that the reason he hadn't reached out to Eames was that he'd still been so in love with him and foolishly convinced first that Eames would come home if just left to his own devices and then later afraid that he couldn't handle seeing Eames and facing that kind of heartbreak head on. Then it had eventually just become habit for him, too. A life he'd worked so hard to build from the shattered pieces of his old one that he didn't want to risk disrupting anything too much. 

He stands.

"I should go to bed before I do something stupid," he says. "Leave the dishes. I'll clean them in the morning."

Arthur tiptoes upstairs and remembers to grab some clean sheets from the linen closet on the way to his room. He's too exhausted and emotionally confused to put them on tonight, but at least he'll be able to do it in the morning without anyone noticing. 

He collapses into bed and jerks off thinking about having Eames' strong thighs wrapped around him again. He's not even ashamed about it. That kiss was ... unbelievably exciting, and yet had felt like coming home at the same time.

He's slightly guilty that he spurts all over the sheets, right on top of Robert's dried come from the other night. That seems wrong. But it's not like anyone else has to know ... 

He's out light a light almost immediately after. 

When he comes downstairs in the morning, freshly showered and only slightly hungover, it's to a completely clean kitchen. 

Eames is out on the patio doing yoga. 

Dear God, _do not_ look at his ass in those pants, Arthur thinks. OK, look, but don't let him catch you. 

He sets out to make a full on hangover breakfast: waffles, bacon, scrambled eggs. 

The boys come tumbling downstairs once they smell the bacon and Eames is inside shortly afterward, probably startled out of his yogic quiet by their manic giggles.

Now that he knows Forrest was scheming to give Robert the boot, he can read their giddiness as excitement that phase one of their plan is complete. God if they knew about the kiss last night--if they could see into Arthur's head this morning and know everything he's wanting, well a G-rated version of it, minus the yoga pants--they'd probably be over the fucking moon. 

During breakfast he proposes a crazy idea: Driving into the City for the rest of the day, maybe staying over if they're too tired after dinner. He'd prefer to stay, but he'll leave it up to Eames 

Really, what he wants is a night away from the house, where he can get his head straight about this attraction he's feeling to his ex and decide what to do about it. 

Also, he thinks it's important for Hugh to see more than just the ranch and their little town. And there's no time like the present to do so. 

The boys are on board immediately, of course. Eames looks reluctant, but also like he doesn't want to object too strenuously. The idea of keeping busy and having very little time alone together has got to be appealing to him too, at the moment. Arthur knows it has to, even if it means up to seven hours of driving there and back. 

They have a great day exploring. Arthur avoids bringing Hugh to his office, because he doesn't know how Eames would react. He does risk walking down the street where they had their first apartment. Eames looks at him, emotions inscrutable, but doesn't say anything about it. 

After dinner at Forrest's favorite place, Eames offers to drive back. Arthur really wants to stay. He's tired and the idea of at least three hours in a car doesn't sound very appealing. But Eames must have his reasons, so he gives in. 

One nice side effect is that he's so tired by the time they pull into the driveway that Arthur has no trouble at all falling asleep right away on his fresh set of sheets. 

The next day is a blur. He does all the normal things--chores, cooking, playing Catan with the boys, cycling after lunch--but his mind is racing with ideas about how to get close to Eames again. 

He knows it probably means he's going to have to talk about what happened between them, something he's been avoiding like crazy and it feels like Eames has, too. If they'd hooked up while he was drunk, he might have gotten away with not hashing this all out. But he doubts he can manage that kind of spontaneity again. Especially since he's doing the opposite of that and planning it all out. 

In the end, he decides to just be direct about it. After the boys go to bed, he grabs a little backpack he's pre-packed and asks Eames if he'll take a walk with him. 

Eames looks skeptical. 

"Look, I think we need to talk and as you pointed out this isn't actually a good place to do it without being overheard." 

Eames nods and grabs a hoodie from the coat rack. He follows Arthur across the lawn and into the woods, where they make a beeline for a small clearing. 

It's not the same place as that picnic Arthur remembers so fondly from when his dad--still looking like he might recover, not yet confined to bed--first gave him the deed to the property and they'd come up here and drank two bottles of Riesling and fucked outside right in the light of day. But it's certainly reminiscent of that place and Arthur is pretty sure Eames will make the connection. 

He lays out a blanket, sits down and hands Eames a Thermos of tea, keeping one of coffee for himself. 

"So I meant to apologize yesterday for ... the other night. But I couldn't find the right moment to do it. And then I kind of realized that I wasn't actually sorry." 

As declarations go, it's not a big one. But it feels huge. It feels like he's walked right up to the edge of a cliff and dared the wind to blow him over it. 

Eames is silent. It's terrifying. 

Arthur reminds himself that Eames had seemed pretty into the kiss. That it had felt like more than just responding to stimulus. This attraction almost certainly goes both ways. He just has to be patient. And to figure out what to do about it. 

Finally Eames says: "I'm afraid that I wasn't entirely honest with you that night. I didn't lie. But I omitted some information."

Arthur's heart is thudding in his chest. He can feel blood rushing through his ears. He waits. 

"Truth be told, it isn't just that I'm concerned about confusing the boys. It's confusing for me as well." 

Arthur leans forward and brushes his thumb against Eames' knuckles where his left hand is pressed into the blanket. 

"Obviously there's still attraction between us. And I've enjoyed, more than I could ever have predicted, spending time together, being parents together. I wouldn't have suggested spending our holidays together if I hadn't. But I can't be your rebound from some other man. I have have to draw the line there, Arthur." 

Arthur withdraws his hand from Eames'. It's time to jump off that cliff. Now or never. 

"You idiot, Eames. You are not a rebound from Robert. _He_ is a rebound from _you_!"

Eames opens his mouth to respond, but Arthur plows ahead. 

"You know that pathetic story I told you the other night about Dom and his psycho ex-wife? The third or fourth worst night of my life? How I was so lonely? That's when I finally gave up waiting for you to come home. I waited for nearly four years, constantly sure you were going to call me, email me, show up on the doorstep. I never believed you were gone for good until then. I never really thought that ... that taking the military contract for the PASIV meant losing you forever. I thought you'd come back for so long. I was an idiot, I guess. Eames, you know that I am not a guy who likes to ... talk about feelings. But you leaving, you ... my heart was broken. It's never been fixed. This stupid thing with Robert, it was just an attempt at normalcy. I never cared about him. I know that makes me an asshole. That's why I was so upset the other night, realizing what a dick I'd been in leading on this perfectly nice guy who I'm just not capable of ... giving myself to emotionally." 

Eames is starring at him. He looks shocked. 

Arthur closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. This is excruciating. But he has to know. 

"If you ... you say that you can't be my rebound and that you're ... attracted to me. But if all that is true, then why did you never come home?" 

"I thought I would. I did. I was so angry, Arthur. But I never meant for it to be permanent. Kit had me halfway out the door one night when we were staying at his, and then I just ... I got so scared that you wouldn't want me back and that you'd try to take Hughey. It's foolish. I know. I trust you now. Implicitly. But I suppose I was in a sort of shock and I huddled down and took care of the one thing I wasn't going to let myself lose."

"Does that mean you forgave me, for the contract, for letting the Pentagon have the PASIV?" 

"I suppose. Or maybe I just aged out of that kind of rage. I was really angry, Arthur. Don't dismiss that. I was opposed to the war and I hated that you'd do business with an organization that wouldn't even have you as a member, wouldn't recognize us as a couple. And I particularly hated that you lied to me about those initial meetings. Or omitted or what have you. You know all that. But it was also ... all that talk about 'providing for your family,' why you had to do it. It just made me feel marginalized, like my part in provisioning the family wasn't as important as yours. Like my principles weren't as important to raising our boys as your money." 

Arthur's heart is breaking all over again. He remembers these fights, but he's hearing Eames in a whole new way now. He understands how hurtful he'd been now, when before he'd only focused on how Eames had hurt him. 

"I'm sorry. I don't know if I'd reject the contract if I could do it over. But I would definitely not have treated it like a decision to be made on my own."

"In a perverse way, my deciding to stay in London and shield myself from any perceived risk of losing Hugh helped me understand a bit where you were coming from. I could have come home. I was half certain we could have found a way between us. But I was also half terrified you would take him back. I decided that protecting Hugh from being torn between us, from your mother, who terrified me, still does honestly, was more important. That instinct, to do what you think is right for them, instead of what's right for us. I understand it better now." 

"I've thought about it so many times. Whether I would do it the same way. I never know the answer. I was really scared we wouldn't have the money to take care of them. I was leveraged to the hilt from building the damn thing in the first place. I had no income, just outflows."

"And I had none to speak of, either," Eames offers, smiling ruefully. 

"It seemed like a life raft. And it has been. Forrest has never felt a lack of anything. But it's been a compromise, no question. They claim they only use it for training. But I am pretty fucking sure they've used it for torture. I hate that I'm a party to that, however remotely. I never even considered it. I'm such an idiot for that."

Eames reaches over and squeezes Arthur's hand.

"But there was no market for it to be used recreationally in the home. Not for something that required _needles_ to use. I could have sold it to some kind of entertainment company that would have turned it into a kind of escort service or I could have done nothing and lost my business and maybe lost this place, which my father had entrusted to me. ... I'm not saying I handled it well. I know I was a patronizing asshole, but, I can't say I wish I'd done differently. I don't think I ever would have forgiven myself if I'd lost the ranch. I should have just stayed in college and never invented the damn thing." 

"Then we never would have met. And the boys never would have been born." 

They sit in silence. Arthur contemplates the good and the bad of all his decisions. He doesn't think he could change any of them, no matter how much some of them pain him. 

"So where does this leave us?" 

"In terms of what, exactly?" 

"In terms of ... this," he gestures between them. "I want ... I want to try again. Will you let me? Will you forgive me, even if I can't be entirely sorry?" 

Eames squeezes his hand again. 

"Yes. I forgive you. Do you forgive me, too?" 

"I don't even know what you want my forgiveness for."

"For being a coward and not coming home." 

"Yes. Completely. But ... what now? I mean we can't just ... get back together like that," he snaps his fingers. 

"No that would be confusing for everyone involved," Eames says. 

"We ... I guess we could take it slow and figure it out. I've never been much of a take-it-slow person ... " 

Eames huffs a small laugh at this understatement.

"... but I ... this is what I want. _You_ are what I've always wanted. I can ... do whatever you need me to do, wait as long as you need ..." 

He's interrupted when Eames leans forward and kisses him. 

It feels every bit as amazing sober as it had the other night when he was drunk.

Eames pulls away and says: "Emotionally slow, certainly. But I'm going to go mad if I have to restrain myself from doing this any longer. It's been like slow torture looking at you all week, not being allowed to touch." 

It's too cold outside to get naked, unfortunately. Arthur really wants to take a very long, very close look at Eames' sexy new body. He tells him this as they roll across the blanket, spilling the coffee Thermos. Eames scoffs, but it turns into a groan as Arthur reaches to cup him through his jeans.

"You are so fucking hot, Eames, don't even start that bullshit with me," Arthur says and blows on his hand to warm it up before reaching into Eames' pants.

He ends up straddling Eames and stroking them both off at once, while Eames clutches his shoulders and kisses his neck and ears, remembering exactly what he likes best.

"God, baby, I missed you so much," Arthur says as he comes over his own hand.

He uses it as lube to keep working Eames' cock, talking to him the whole time, saying things he probably shouldn't, but can't stop himself from whispering.

He knows he wants Eames back in his life. He never wanted him gone in the first place. And anyway, Eames probably won't remember all the details, considering that he's writhing and panting beneath Arthur as his orgasm approaches. Arthur can still tell when it's about to happen, even after all these years.

"I missed you too, Arthur," Eames says as he helps pack up the half-soaked blanket. "But I meant what I said about needing to take it slow emotionally speaking."

"Oh me too. It was just, you know, heat of the moment."

Eames grins across at him in the moonlight.

"I seem to recall that being when you say the things you really mean."

"OK fine. I am totally and completely aiming to win you back. But I'm not stupid. I know one handjob in the woods isn't enough ..."

"Trying to re-live your wayward teenaged years?" Eames cuts in, laughing.

He grabs Arthur's hand and swings it with his, giddy in the aftermath of everything that's happened between them over the last hour. Arthur bumps his shoulder in pretend irritation But can't help laughing, too.

" ... I know jumping right into how we were before is a terrible idea considering the kids and that I'm newly single," he continues clinging to the remains of his introspective mood from earlier, trying to say everything before the ability to do so escapes him. "But that wasn't a one-time thing for me. Or I hope it wasn't."

"Obviously we should keep this secret from them," Eames responds. "But perhaps we should address the idea of joining up our holidays with them tomorrow."

Arthur grabs the notebook with their earlier half-formed brainstorm on it from his office and they hash out a plan through June, including the October visit, a ski trip at Christmas, time in London later in the winter and some kind of beach thing in the spring. Arthur will have to pull Forrest out of school for some of it, but it's only eighth grade and he can arrange fro him to do assignments while they're away. 

They also talk about a way to meet up just the two of them without arousing too much suspicion. It turns out Eames has been planning a work trip to New York only a week before Arthur will be due for a trip to DC.

They think if they spend the overlapping weekend together and keep quiet about it that the boys won't notice. It's a stretch, if Forrest really is scheming as much as Eames thinks he is. But Arthur will try to find a fun sleepover to distract him and Eames will ask Kit to keep Hugh busy.

"Is he going to be dead set against this?" Arthur asks.

He always liked Kit. But he could definitely be a bit of a protective older brother sometimes. Not that he blamed him under the circumstances. He and Eames only had each other as familyfor a long time.

"He might be a bit prickly at first, but he'll play nice when it comes down to it. He did try to get me to come back to you when we first split, after all."

"I'll talk to him if it would help," Arthur offers.

"You know, it was cute when you and Kit acted paternal toward me when I was 21 and living illegally in a foreign country. I'm nearly 38 and have been a single father for 11 years. I don't think I need either of you to look after me anymore." 

Arthur rolls his eyes. 

"It was always a joke, you know. I mean I'm a whopping two years older than you. I obviously didn't have life any more figured out than you did. It was a way for me and Kit to relate to each other in the beginning and then later it was just funny." 

They sneak a few goodnight kisses in the downstairs bathroom before heading off to sleep in their separate rooms. 

In the morning they float the idea of shared vacations scattered throughout the school year to the boys, who respond with enthusiasm. 

Arthur promises Hugh that he'll teach him to ski. 

"I have infinite patience. Don't worry. I taught your dad how to ski. I taught Forrest. I'll have you hooked on it by the end of the week. I promise. And if I'm wrong and you don't like it, then we'll just find other kinds of vacations to take." 

"You'll be great," Forrest adds. "Remember when we did the obstacle course at camp? You were so good at the balance walk."

He turns to Eames, "and you and I can go on the fun ones." 

"Well ... I haven't skied in since the two of you were born. We'll see how daring I'm willing to be." 

"Don't let him fool you, Eames. Forrest always wants to go on the toughest slopes until he's standing at the top of them." 

"Daaaaaaad! Don't tell them that!" 

Arthur ruffles Forrest's hair. 

"I'll tell you something embarrassing about your dad, too. He was a good skier. Very natural. Very elegant. But he had this insane fondness for the most boring sport in existence."

"Cross country?"

"I wish! Snowshoeing!" 

"It's lovely! I don't know why you hated it so much. I'd see birds and rabbits and sometimes foxes." 

Arthur feels relaxed and happy, prone to teasing and banter. If the boys notice, hopefully they'll chalk it up to Robert not hanging around frowning at any sign of fun and won't realize it's because of everything that went down between their fathers the night before. It's not just the sex and the exciting promise of more and better and warmer sex to come. It's the feeling of getting years of worry and hurt feelings off his chest. He feels lighthearted and ten years younger. He feels like whistling and catches himself doing so throughout his morning chores.

The next day flies by with alarming speed. Now that everything's been set on a path that Arthur actually wants to pursue, he finds the time is passing too quickly. 

In the morning he takes the stitches out of Hugh's hand. The kid is ecstatic. 

They celebrate by going on a family bike ride. Forrest, flush with enthusiasm, lets Hugh ride his new bike and takes out his old one. Eames rides his hybrid bike from back when they were married, which Arthur kept all these years, at first out of hopes of Eames returning, then just because it never hurts to have an extra on hand.

Afterwards, during lunch, Forrest asks Eames: "So my dad taught you how to ski and how to drive. Did he teach you how to ride a bike, too?" 

Eames laughs and says no, his own father had taught him when he was six. And he tells a cute story about the lessons. It makes Arthur's heart pang, missing his own father and feeling sad, still after all these years, that Eames got so little time with his parents and that Forrest and Hugh have one living grandparent and she's a monster. 

"What about you?" Hugh asks Arthur. "Did my dad teach you anything, or was it all one-sided?"

The first few images to flash through Arthur's mind are decidedly not something he can share with his children. The first is Eames demonstrating the workings of his foreskin, being the first uncut guy Arthur had hooked up with in his life. The second is Eames using Arthur's invention, the PASIV, for the first time and turning into someone else, demonstrating something Arthur hadn't even known the machine could do.

"Uhhhh, I couldn't really cook at all when we met. Of course, neither could your he. We kind of learned that together." 

"I'm not sure he actually learned," Hugh says, but he's grinning. 

"Hey! He made me really good French toast when I was at your apartment," Forrest responds. 

"Arthur was a total slob when I met him," Eames says slyly, terrible smile on his face, wrecking Arthur's carefully constructed facade and knowing it. 

"I was not!" 

"Come off it. Tinkering away at all in that dark apartment where the dust didn't show, living out of boxes." 

"I was broke! It's not the same thing as being a slob!" 

Eames laughs and Arthur can't help joining him. He hopes they aren't being too flirtatious in front of the kids. It's just so hard not to let his happiness show. 

"So you're saying you taught me how to be neat?" he asks. 

"No, just how to make a home aesthetically pleasing." 

Arthur wants to retort with something about his mother and the carefully appointed, touch-nothing home where he'd been raised, but he knows better than to open that door right now. 

"Don't worry, darling. It's not an insult. It's my job to make beautiful things." 

Arthur rolls his eyes, but nods to concede the point. 

After they're done eating, Forrest wants to try baking bread at Eames' suggestion that he impress the elusive Megan Ellison by trying out one of her hobbies. 

Arthur isn't sure the yeast he has is even any good anymore. He can't even remember why he'd ever bought it in the first place. But he'll go get some more at the store tomorrow if it doesn't work. 

"When I was a lad, I joined the bloody debate team to get close to this boy I fancied," Eames tells Forrest as they start following the recipe directions.

"Ah, the dashing Reggie Turner," Arthur says, pretending to swoon, knowing all about this first, all-consuming schoolboy crush. 

"Shut it," Eames returns with a smirk. 

"Did it work?" Forrest asks, eagerly. 

"Oh my lord, no. He was straight as a ruler. But the point is that I tried. You can't give up on this girl without even trying." 

"Well once I tried to impress her by jumping off the school roof." 

"Don't _ever_ do that again," Arthur interjects sternly. 

"That was one of the absolute worst days of my life," he says to Forrest, then turns to Eames and explains: "he broke his arm."

He's fully aware that he's mentioned his ranking of terrible days twice in succession now. Eames has to know what the other two are--his father's death and the day Eames left. At least one of them he has a chance to un-do now. He can't fuck it up. He can't.

He invites Hugh to come help him with some chores around the property while the bakers do their work. 

They weed the garden and pick whatever is ripe to use for dinner. Arthur restrains himself once again from asking Hugh about any romantic interests of his own. He's more curious than he likes to own up to about it, but it's none of his business unless Hugh wants to talk about it. 

It turns out he wants to talk about Forrest's friends though. They have plans to meet up for a movie and ice cream with some of the guys from Forrest's class tomorrow and he's nervous they won't like him. 

"Forrest loathed me at first. What if his mates hate me and it's awkward for everyone?" 

"They're a pretty low key bunch. And Forrest is so excited to show you off. No one else around here has a hipster English twin brother. You'll be a rock star to them." 

Hugh scoffs. 

"Even if I can't play baseball?" 

"Not everyone around here is as obsessed with baseball has Forrest and me. I promise." 

"What are they obsessed with?" 

"Some with horses. This used to be quite the horse country. My own grandfather, your great grandfather, raised raceshorses here on this very ranch for years. Skiing, in the winter, for sure. And I already promised to teach you that. Gardening is common and there are some farms down in the valley. Megan Ellison's family grows asparagus and kale for the farmer's market, maybe we can go before you head hom."

"Forrest's afraid she'd ignore him for me," Hugh laughs. "Some girl who thinks she's Little House on the Prairie? Not bloody likely." 

"He's been in love with her since he was five. You can't blame him for being a little possessive." 

"I've never gone to school with girls," Hugh responds. "Must be strange. Forrest says they don't wear uniforms, either. Ours are beastly. Always too hot or too cold." 

"When I was growing up, we only wore uniforms for gym class, physical education. They were so hideous and uncomfortable. I swear they'd had the same ones since my mom went there." 

Fuck, he'd mentioned his mom. 

Hugh just looks at him. Arthur doesn't know what he's heard about her. But if it's anything at all, it isn't good.

"Is she why my father was always so frightened of losing me?" 

"Yeah, she wasn't very nice to him after my dad died. Decided she wanted me to be your only father." 

"But your father wasn't like that?"

"No. He was my hero. The greatest guy. Taught me everything about taking care of this place, about being ... sufficient, I guess I'd say. About the kind of man I wanted to grow up to be." 

He leaves out the conflict he'd felt as a teenager about activities that his dad wouldn't have approved of, like sex with older men and trying to break into the school computers or hack a police record. Hugh certainly doesn't need to know about those. 

When they go back inside, the whole house smells heavenly. 

"Bread and salad for dinner, I think," he says, setting Hugh to work washing the vegetables they'd picked while he makes a dressing. 

Overall it's a nearly perfect day. The only thing Arthur would change about it would be taking Eames to bed with him at the end of it. As it is, they take turns sucking each other off inside the locked pool house. 

Eames goes agonizingly slowly, until Arthur can feel it all the way down to the tips of his toes. Eames knows how good he is at this and he wants to show off, maybe make Arthur suffer a little bit thinking about all the years he's missed out on it. 

By the time it's Arthur's turn, he knows Eames won't last long. So he sets a brutal pace with his mouth and wiggles a spit-coated finger into Eames' ass. He finds his prostate as if he'd last done it yesterday, not more than a decade ago. It shocks Eames into making a truly obscene noise and shooting come straight down Arthur's throat. 

Afterward, Arthur shows Eames the half-finished mural that he'd started on the back wall. Arthur had covered it up to protect it from damage after Eames left, and then kept it hidden so Forrest wouldn't ask how it got there. 

"Fuck, but I haven't thought about this one in years," Eames sounds heartbroken. "I was sure you would have found a way to bin it, taken the wall out or something." 

"It was my anniversary present! I wouldn't have." 

"God that makes me sound like a lout. Couldn't even finish your anniversary present before the next one came round." 

"Well you were taking care of two infants at the time. I think you were kinda ambitious about being able to work out here and listen to them on the baby monitor." 

Eames laughs. 

"Lord the second I'd get settled out here after putting one of them down, the other would start up." 

"All those nights in the nursery, pacing with one then the other, trying to let you sleep after taking care of them all day ..." 

"How did you imagine it being between us 12 years down the road?" 

"Boring, middle-aged dads."

"Bed at 9 p.m. Date nights every other Friday. Driving a hideous van around town ... "

Arthur touches Eames' cheek. 

"I'd give anything for another chance to be a boring, middle-aged dad with you." 

Eames blushes and shies away a little. 

"Remember when you were the emotionally blocked one between us?" 

"I may take forever to admit what I feel, but once I know, I never let go of it." 

"So you're just stubborn?" Eames smirks. 

"Terribly. Like a dog with a bone," Arthur says and Eames snorts with laughter. 

"Don't be disgusting." 

From the minute he wakes in the morning, alone and hard as a rock, all Arthur can think about is sex.

At lunch the boys will go into town to meet Forrest's friends for milkshakes at the diner and then go to the movies. This will give he and Eames nearly three hours alone together. Three hours in which they can fuck. For real. In a bed.

Arthur can barely muster enough focus to turn slices of Forrest's bread into toast.

He can feel his eyes straying over to Eames who is doing yoga on the patio again. Every time he pushes into downward-facing dog Arthur wants to growl.

As an excuse for a closer look, he slices up some peaches and goes outside to toss them on the grill. But they get pretty carmelized when Eames goes into plow pose and ear-pressure pose. He's clearly taunting Arthur, the bastard. How he stays so flexible when he's all beefed up and muscular like this is a mystery. But Arthur's not going to complain.

He spreads the toast with marscapone and drizzles honey on top of the peaches. Eames better not refuse to eat this, no matter how many calories, Arthur thinks.

He tries so hard not to let his impatience show, sitting out in the sun doing the crossword while the boys splash around in the pool--Hugh's first time doing so without a glove on his hand since Forrest and Eames arrived. Eames is under the umbrella with his sketchbook, scratching away at the pages.

The boys look adorable when they get ready to go into town with their matching haircuts and opposite-styled clothes. He kind of wishes he could see the other kid's faces when they get a look at them, but Forrest wants to introduce Eames around to his friends, too, and how could he deny such a sweet and wholesome request?

"Be good," he admonishes when they leave. "Keep your cell phones handy and don't let me hear back about any reckless behavior. I don't have to let two twelve-year-olds out on their own, even in a small town like this. Remember that the privilege is earned."

"Daaaaaad, we're 13," Forrest responds.

"Almost 13. And the point stands."

As soon as the car pulls out he goes upstairs and checks his supplies. He moves the already opened box of condoms and half-finished lube to the closet and puts fresh, unopened ones in the top drawer. It only seems considerate.

He smooths the blanket and plumps the pillows.

He goes to the bathroom and checks his hair.

He doesn't know why he's acting so nervous and fidgety. Probably because there's nothing to do but sit here and wait for Eames to come home, no real action to take.

He's reclining in bed, basically pretending to read his tablet when Eames pokes his head in the door.

"I didn't expect to find you in here," he says.

"Didn't you?" Arthur asks. "Getting you into my bed is all I've been able to think about all day."

"I know. I saw you watching me this morning."

"Like you weren't egging me on?"

"I'll admit nothing."

He stands and goes over to kiss Eames, eager to get started now that they finally have the house to themselves for probably the only time this visit.

"Let me just pop into the shower for a moment, darling." 

"You want me to join you?"

"No, no. I promise I won't be a moment. I stayed in my sweaty yoga clothes to drive the boys over, so it will be believable that I've been hiking instead of back here when I go back to retrieve them."

Arthur smiles and steps back.

"Hurry," he says, giving Eames a smack on the ass as he walks away. "And don't use my shampoo, or they'll smell it on you."

Arthur strips down to his boxer briefs and reclines on the bed, palming himself and savoring the anticipation of the moment. He wants to break Eames--tear down that emotional hesitancy and make him admit to having feelings for Arthur beyond attraction. He knows everything Eames likes. Or everything liked 11 years ago, but it probably hasn't changed too much, or Eames would have said at this point. And he's hoping to use all that privileged knowledge to drag Eames out onto this limb he feels like he's been standing on alone for days now. 

Eames emerges, wrapped up in Arthur's robe, hair dry but curling up a bit from the steam.

Arthur practically leaps off the bed to pick up where they'd left off.

A minute or two of kissing later, he's pushing Eames back toward the bed, groping his hands under the robe.

"God I want to see every inch of you. Fuck," he breathes out.

Eames blushes and wriggles a little bit.

"Jesus, Eames, you've got to cut out this shy act."

"It's not an act. I'm not the skinny little wisp I was when you met me."

"Babe, you are hotter than ever. I can't keep my eyes off you, couldn't since the moment you pulled up to the house. For fucks sake, let me see you. _Please_."

Eames is still blushing, but he looks pleased now, instead of embarrassed and he lets Arthur pull the robe off and toss it aside. 

Arthur wants to touch and taste every inch of him, even the parts that aren't traditionally considered erogenous.

He starts with Eames' neck, which he kisses gently not wanting to risk leaving a mark. He nibbles lightly on his collarbone, licks his armpit, sucks on his nipples, tongues his bellybutton, bites down on his right hipbone and completely ignores Eames' straining dick for the moment.

He lays a trail kisses down Eames' left thigh and then lifts it up and pushes it against Eames' chest. He fakes Eames out again though, instead of taking advantage of this new access to Eames' perineum and asshole, he instead kisses the back of his knee, practically makes out with it, as Eames squirms. He licks the arch of Eames' foot and nibbles his ankle and even sucks momentarily on his big toe.

When he crawls up onto the bed, Eames is flushed all over and his eyes are glassy.

Arthur leans down and whispers in his ear, "you are the most-gorgeous creature I have ever laid eyes on."

Eames whimpers and turns to catch Arthur's lips in a kiss. 

They roll around on the bed making out, reveling in the luxury of it the way only people who have been sneaking around can appreciate. Eames tugs at the waistband of Arthur's underwear, and he breaks away to take them off and toss them down to the floor.

He takes advantage of the separation to kiss his way across Eames' belly, just the tiniest bit soft despite the insane definition in his chest and arms. The contrast is so hot. Then he finally leans over and pays some attention to Eames' dick, closing his mouth around the head and swirling his tongue.

Back when they were together, Eames liked to come first, then be opened up for Arthur to fuck him afterward. Arthur's going to follow that same plan unless Eames asks for something different. But Arthur is determined as hell to make Eames love every damn second of this either way.

He sucks Eames down as deep as he can go and works his throat until he's gagging, breathing through his nose and trying to be half as good as Eames is at this, the magnificent bastard. The scent of his skin, once so familiar and now so excitingly new again, surrounds Arthur, filling his head and he feels dizzy with lust.

Eames cries out his name and Arthur reaches up, intending to grasp his hand. Instead he finds Eames mouth closing around his fingers, sucking on their pads, telling Eames what he needs.It feels so good that Arthur lingers for longer than strictly necessary, moaning around Eames' dick as that incredible mouth works on him, sending signals straight to his own groin.

But when Eames lets out a slow whine, he moves his wet fingers to Eames' ass and starts fingering him open, gently as he can without proper lube, just spit. Eames goes wild for it, writhing around above him and Arthur can't help pushing Eames' legs up and licking around his own fingers where they're intruding into Eames' body. Eames very nearly kicks Arthur in the face as he arches and keens in response, pausing to pant out an apology.

Arthur keeps at it until Eames feels nice and loose for him. It takes time with just saliva, but he doesn't mind at all. Eames has always had the most intoxicating body, as far as he's concerned.

"Do you want to come?" he asks, pulling away to lick a stripe up Eames' dick. 

"No ... I mean yes, but ... later, on your cock," Eames breathes out and Arthur just about keels over from being so turned on.

He pushes in so slowly, heart thudding in his chest, head spinning. As soon as he's seated and Eames is gasping, asking for more, Arthur hefts Eames' leg to his opposite shoulder, putting them in this crosswise position that Eames always loved. Still does if the noises he's making are any indication

Eames feels so good. Still the best Arthur has ever had, after all these years.

But he doesn't let himself savor it too much, determined to focus on Eames, on making him lose himself. He moves in and out in a long, slow, steady glide, occasionally swirling his hips in a little circle. Eames is moaning and panting and completely unselfconscious now. Arthur switches to tiny thrusts, barely withdrawing at all, pressing as gently but as relentlessly as he can in a way that makes Eames immediately lick his palm and start jerking off, suddenly desperate.

Eames spills all over his knuckles and Arthur holds still for a minute afterward, letting Eames recover his wits. Then he pulls out and flips them, grabbing Eames around the waist and pulling him to straddle Arthur and ride him. Eames is so good at this, the way he moves and preens for Arthur's benefit.

Most guys Arthur's with, after he makes them come, he just takes what he wants from them until he's done the same. But with Eames it's like a dance, a slow, relentless tease. 

Arthur is an idiot, because after all that planning, he's the one who is breaking. He's starring right into Eames' eyes in a way that could only be seen as romantic, pulling Eames' face down and pressing their foreheads together, breathing Eames' air. He's whispering things he shouldn't say, not yet, telling Eames that he loves him, that he never wants him to leave, that he will do anything to keep him. But oh fuck, he can't bring himself to care. Not when Eames is doing everything so very right, proving that he hasn't forgotten a single thing about Arthur's body in all the time they've been apart.

Eames spares him from saying anything more--not that there's really anything Arthur hasn't spilled already--and kisses him. And he might not be ready to tell Arthur that he loves him, but it's certainly present in the kiss.

And that does him in. The thought of it. He's coming so hard that he thinks his eyes roll back into his head. And Eames is gentling him through it with nuzzles and soft kisses.

They lie panting and holding hands for a while afterward, no words exchanged. Arthur honestly can't decide if he feels embarrassed or relieved to have laid it all out like that. When Eames rolls over and throws his arm and leg over Arthur, tucking his face into Arthur's neck, he decides he's glad.

"I'm getting there, darling. Be patient with me."

"You can trust me, Eames. How do you not know that?" he asks, but with affection and no confrontation in his voice.

"I do. I can and I do. It's just ..."

Suddenly a deep and irrational fear strikes Arthur's chest like an icicle, frosting his happiness with jealousy.

"It's not because you want to be with other people when you get home, is it?"

After all, although Eames hadn't been in a relationship since their divorce, he had been having casual sex all this time and what if he didn't think he could do without between visits.

"If ... if that's what you need, I'd be OK with it. Just tell me."

Eames scoffs.

"First off, no. You wouldn't. And what's more, that's not in the least what I want."

"Oh thank God," Arthur sighs.

"See. What did I tell you?"

"I just ... I feel like I'm out here on this limb and I want you to come out here too. You were right the other night. I used to be the one who was scared to talk about this shit back before when we first started out. But I'm not anymore. I've missed you so much, I didn't even realize how much until you got here. I'm not letting you go again. ... Well, I mean, I'm letting you go back home in a few days, like we decided. But I'm not letting _this_ go," he says, squeezing Eames' arm to make his point. "Not now that I know that not coming after you when you left was the stupidest decision I'd ever made. I should have fought _for_ you and not _with_ you and I am not making that mistake again." 

Eames kisses Arthur softly. 

"I wish you had done," he says. It doesn't sound angry or accusatory, just honest and sad. 

They lie there entwined, thinking their own thoughts. Arthur had really wanted to have a second round, but he isn't sure how to get it started given the mood they've somehow descended into. 

But then Eames surprises him by slowly kissing Arthur's neck and letting his hand start to roam. Arthur isn't going to complain. 

"Something simpler this time, eh?" Eames asks as he slides down Arthur's body and sucks him back to full hardness. 

Arthur sprawls out and enjoys it until he can feel his body really getting excited again. Then he reaches down and taps Eames' shoulder. 

"I appreciate the help getting started, but if it's all the same to you let's not keep it simple. This might be our only chance until New York." 

"Point," Eames concedes and crawls back up to kiss Arthur. 

He's not hard yet, but between the kisses and Arthur's own erection pressing up against his belly, Arthur knows it won't take Eames long. They're not in their 20s anymore after all. But they aren't dead, either. 

He slides his hand down Eames' back and teases his cleft. He thinks wistfully about a day when he could use his own come as lube in this situation, but they aren't even close to that point yet. He slides a finger in, Eames still wet and loose enough for it to go effortlessly, and presses. That brings Eames back to hardness pretty damn quick. 

There's less urgency this time. Arthur is un-rushed as he rolls Eames onto his side and enters him from a spooning position, hand splayed across Eames' chest.

They move in sync in a slow rocking motion. Arthur is breathing in Eames' ear, pressed up against his whole back. Eames moves his hand to hold Arthur's and stretches backward to kiss him, although they can't manage much more than gentle touches of the lips from this angle. 

Arthur knows it will take him a while to come again so soon at this point in his life. So he doesn't try to make Eames crazy with it, doesn't touch his dick. Just keeps them pressed together and panting--a deep but warming pleasure, rather than the writhing ecstasy of the first time. 

Eventually he can feel orgasm building and he reaches out to palm Eames dick and stroke it until Eames brings his hand over and takes control from Arthur. He always likes to come with his own hand on himself. 

Arthur follows him over the edge less than two minutes later and his whole body feels this sense of sated peace. He could sleep for a year. 

Of course, the boys need to be picked up soon, so that's not actually going to happen. 

"Are you OK to drive?" he asks when Eames is cleaned up and dressed back in his sweaty exercise clothes. 

"I'll manage," Eames responds. "I'd rather be here having a kip in your bed, but it wouldn't do to leave them waiting and wondering." 

Arthur gives him one last lingering kiss at the door and then goes to his office so he can pretend to have been working when everyone arrives back home.

After Forrest's second attempt at baking under Eames' tutelage, this time banana nut muffins, he asks if they can go to the farmer's market so he can offer one to Megan Ellison. 

Hugh is torn over whether he should go along or not, so Arthur intervenes and asks Hugh to stay and help him with the gardening again. They do a little bit of weeding and then he and Arthur hike around the property's perimeter, with Arthur pointing out things that need repair--like a bit of fence on the west side and a biking trail through the woods that's going a bit too wild.

Hugh doesn't ask many questions, but when he does they're keen and observant. Arthur likes that they can be comfortably quiet together. Not that he doesn't enjoy Forrest's garrulous energy just as much. It's just nice to think that he can have different relationships with each boy.

When they get back, Arthur showers and Hugh goes for a swim, already nostalgic about the pool and the sunshine, although he's around for four more days. 

Fuck, four more days. Arthur can feel his heart aching already. But there's nothing to be done for it. He can't very well uproot everyone's life on the basis of a reunion of fewer than two weeks. Even if he wants to, he knows it would be insane and incredibly disruptive. 

When he comes back downstairs, Eames and Hugh have returned and are laying bags of vegetables and nuts and cheeses on the table. 

"How'd it go? Was she impressed?" Arthur asks brightly. 

"She seemed skeptical at first, but then she asked for a second," Eames responds. 

Arthur high-fives Forrest, who is practically tap dancing from excitement. 

Arthur washes and slices the veggies into a salad and they snack on the farmer's market purchases and the remaining muffins while Eames and Hugh have tea. Forrest tells the story of Megan Ellison asking for a second muffin at least three times. He's looking at Eames like he hung the moon. It makes Arthur's heart thump to see the two of them together like that, happy and in tune. 

It still shocks Arthur how much Forrest reminds him of Eames sometimes. Where did he get it from? It's not genetic, obviously. Maybe Arthur somehow conditioned him to act like Eames' kid, subconsciously supplied the influence of Forrest's missing parent for him. 

Eames asks Hugh about what they'd done that morning and Hugh seems genuinely into it as he recounts the chores they'd accomplished. He seems to have fallen a little bit in love with the property, which makes Arthur even happier, because he's been completely smitten with it since he was the boys' age himself. 

They lounge around the house for a while, and watch a DVD. 

When it gets dark, they go for a little walk to one of the clearings. Arthur brings the boys a Thermos of hot cocoa and they run around like wild animals, laughing and rolling in the grass at private jokes. After a while, Arthur desperately wishes he could reach over and hold Eames' hand or pull Eames' head to rest on his lap. But he can't. So he jumps up and challenges everyone to a race home, unable to sit there and not do something stupid. He's got a head start, thanks to the element of surprise. But he lets Hugh win when he closes in on his lead. 

Forrest seems to be pouting a bit at coming in third. Ordinarily Arthur would let it go, but seeing the easy way Eames talks to the boys about their feelings spurs him to tap Forrest's wrist and ask him if he's OK. Thankfully Eames notices and rushes Hugh upstairs with the promise of a caricature of Megan Ellison, so Hugh can know what she looks like. 

Forrest looks uncertain though and Arthur feels a tiny bit guilty that his son doesn't know how to open up to him the way he does to Eames. 

"Do you ... " Forrest toes his sneaker against the hardwood, mumbling and refusing to meet Arthur's eye. "Do you ... like Hugh better than me?"

Arthur is taken aback. 

"Jesus Christ, no," he says, automatically reaching out to wrap an arm around Forrest's shoulder and stroking his hair behind his ear. "Please never think that again." 

"But ... "

"Forrest, you are ... you've been the most-important thing in my life for eleven years. And I am so damn proud of who you're growing up to be and I hope that at least some of that is due to my influence. I just want to get to know Hugh, too, not just as part of the whole family, but one-on-one, the way we've been for years." 

"So it's OK if he's more into the whole ranch and horses and everything than me?" 

"Of course it is, silly. Did you ever worry before this that you'd be any less important to me if you didn't want to spend time taking care of your great-grandpa's property together?" 

" ...no, I guess not." 

"Well nothing's changed. I promise." 

"Lots of things have changed though." 

Arthur chuckles. 

"OK yeah. Lots of things have changed. You're brother his here. Your other dad is here. We're figuring out how to make this family work. But nothing about how important you are has changed." 

Arthur hugs him and Forrest blushes. 

"Yeah, OK. You don't need to get all cheeseball on me."

Arthur laughs. 

"Get out of here," he gently pushes Forrest toward the stairs. "Go see how that drawing of Megan is shaping up." 

"I'm going to sleep with it under my pillow," Forrest says and Arthur rolls his eyes. 

Arthur makes a cup of coffee, pours a healthy belt of whiskey into it and waits for Eames down on the pool patio. It's over an hour before he appears, not wanting to arouse suspicion, presumably. Arthur tells him about the conversation with Forrest and Eames says he isn't surprised that Hugh isn't having similar anxieties. 

"He's probably worrying that I'll mind terribly that he prefers you," Eames jokes. 

"Don't say that." 

"I know he doesn't. I'm not bothered. But he's clearly very enamored." 

"Is he .. does he like boys?" 

"Christ, Arthur. I didn't mean it that way. Don't be disgusting." 

"I know you didn't. I've just been wondering about it. Forrest has been mooning over Megan Ellison for so long that I never had to wonder. But Hugh doesn't have anything to say on that front, no matter how much we talk about her." 

"I don't think so. No. Why? Do you wish that he did?"

"I don't know, honestly. It's something I'd never given any thought to until the two of you arrived." 

"I think he just doesn't really know any girls to fancy. He flushes whenever we're at a museum or gallery and see a nude that's female. And I see him watching straight couples PDA sometimes with a sort of curiosity that borders on longing." 

"I always feel like I'm so useless with giving Forrest encouragement or comfort about the whole Megan situation. You're so good with him." 

"My youthful crushes are a lot easier to talk about than your ... "

" ... youthful whorishness?" 

Eames laughs, but says, "not the word I would have chosen, but the point stands. You think it would be easier to help Hugh navigate the confusing stage of early romantic feelings if he fancied other boys at his school, but it wouldn't. It would be even harder to avoid ... the stories I'm assuming you'd prefer they not hear." 

"True. And, God, I would be so fucking overprotective. I worry about Forrest getting his heart broken. I worry about him being stupid and not using protection when he's older. But I don't worry about him being physically hurt."

"See it's all for the best then. Although I do realize I should probably find a way for him to actually meet some girls. I probably should have sent him to a camp that had them. Of course, then I wouldn't be here now, so I can't really regret it, can I?" 

"How did you pick the camp anyway? Seems kind of random." 

Eames shrugs. 

"Hugh knows he was born in America. I thought it would be a nice way for him to experience the country of his birth, but in a way that minimized any chance of him asking me a lot of questions about our life here before moving back." 

"Makes sense."

"What about you? I honestly never considered that Forrest would be at such a place. I presumed some sort of Boy Scout allegiance would be in order given your history." 

"Oh ... uh, I sent back my Eagle Scout award in protest. I won't let Forrest join." 

Eames looks genuinely shocked. 

"Because of their ... "

"Homophobia. Yes." 

"I can hardly believe my ears."

It stings a bit. Eames had used the Boy Scout thing in their fights over the military contract, accusing Arthur of always running into the arms of organizations that don't want him.

"Look, the whole scouting thing was ... complicated for me."

It's hard for Arthur to discuss it. The guy who'd shared his feelings so openly with Eames while they were having sex the other day is nowhere to be found tonight. He has to drag the words out of himself.

"It was so important to my dad. And I was, well you know how I looked up to him. And I was so scared he'd ... you know. You didn't know him back then. It was hard to imagine he'd be so supportive. Well hard for me anyway. I thought if I kicked ass at scouting then at least I'd always have something ... something that made him proud of me." 

Arthur had been starring into the middle distance while he spoke. But he risks a look at Eames, unsure of what kind of reaction to expect.

What he sees is Eames with his face buried in his hands, very clearly, but very quietly crying.

He waits for a moment, to be polite, but Eames doesn't show any sign of stopping. Arthur reaches over and squeezes his shoulder.

"Hey, hey it's OK baby."

Eames turns to him and uncovers his face and without thinking, Arthur opens his arms and gathers Eames into them. A moment later he realizes that the boys could be watching, but there's nothing to be done about it now if they are. Arthur strokes his hair and whispers nonsense comfort noises.

When Eames finally relents and pulls back, Arthur asks: "Is that ... are you ... is everything OK? You're not going to break up with me now, are you?"

"No, God no, Arthur. That was me relenting. It's just I never thought I'd hear you say those things. I never thought you'd actually do something like that. I give up. You're right. I'm still very fucking much in love with you. I didn't want to say it, because I was bloody terrified it would turn out the same as last time. But I can see you've changed now. I love you, OK? I never even considered trying to start another relationship because I knew I could never replace you. Jesus ... " he wipes more tears from the corners of his eyes. "I want this to work so bloody much. I just, I trust you now, Arthur. I mean I always did when it came to the boys. But I trust you now when it comes to me, to us."

Arthur feels a lump in his throat. He should have known he couldn't break Eames with sex or love declarations. No, Eames has always wanted to cut Arthur to the quick and leave him raw and exposed.

He pulls Eames into the shade of the eaves, hidden from both the door and the windows above and kisses him soundly. It doesn't lead to anything more, they're both too wrung out for that, but it's enough. It's more than enough. 

A few days later when Eames and Hugh leave for the airport, Eames is a mess, crying and hugging Forrest and making him promise to phone about every little thing. He's nothing more than cordial with Arthur though, having said their goodbyes privately the night before. Hugh is teary-eyed too and even Arthur has a lump in his throat as he continuously ruffles his hair or squeezes his shoulder, not wanting to end the moment. 

"We'll see each other here again in October. That's only two months," he reminds everyone, including himself.


	6. Epilogue

**Forrest:**

Forrest beckons Hugh to follow him as he eases the hotel room door open and squeezes through the crack.

"Do you have the key card?" he ask.

"Jesus, you don't have yours?"

"I'm counting on you to have it."

"Yes, I have it. God," Hugh rolls his eyes. 

Forrest presses his ear to the door one room over, where his dad is staying, but hears nothing. Hugh does the same to the room on the other side of theirs where their other dad is staying. He shakes his head silently.

They tiptoe down the hall and out through the side door, headed for the beach. They're going to get in so much trouble if they get caught, but they're in the clear for now anyway. And Forrest is pretty sure no one will come to check on them at this hour. Probably.

They won't be out long, anyway. They just want to dip their feet in the water one last time before they each fly to their separate homes tomorrow and they won't see each other again until summer vacation in two months. And they want to know they got away with sneaking out. It's not something Forrest would do at home, because why bother. But here in Bermuda, it's a cool thing to have gotten away with.

They try to stay casual as they head for the water so no one will question two thirteen-year-old boys out on their own close to Midnight.

Forrest nearly trips and pauses to tie his sneakers, waving for Hugh to continue on ahead. It's probably better if they aren't walking side-by-side anyway. Twins attract a lot of attention, he's noticed whenever they've gotten together over the past eight months. 

He counts to 200 crouched over and fiddling with his shoes and then stands to follow Hugh down to the water. But to his surprise his brother is rushing up the walkway and waving Forrest back toward the hotel, looking panicked.

Shit. Hopefully they haven't just been caught by the concierge or a security guard or something.

"Hurry, get back inside right flipping now," Hugh stage-whispers at him. His eyes are wide and he looks terrified.

Jesus maybe it was one of their dads he saw out here.

As soon as the side door closes behind them, Hugh breaks into a run, barreling back to their room.

"What the hell, dude?"

Hugh just shakes his head, still freaking out about something or other.

"Seriously, just ... what happened?"

Hugh grabs Forrest's arm and steers him over to sit on the bed they agreed to share in exchange for having their own room (so much better than skiing at Christmas when they had to each share with one dad and couldn't talk to each other at night).

"You have to _swear_ you won't say anything if I tell you."

"Say anything? To _who_?"

"Just promise. No matter what, you won't tell anyone at all what I'm going to tell you."

"Jesus, OK. Yes. I promise. It's between us."

"I went just up round the bend, and off to the left there's that odd tree looks like Le Petit Prince or something?"

"Yeah, OK."

"And ... I ... I saw our dads, _both of them_ , leaning against it and _kissing_."

Forrest flops back on the bed.

"Each other?"

"Yes each other, you git."

"Are you messing with me right now? Is this a joke?"

"No swear down. I saw it."

"Holy shit. Holy, holy shit. This is what we've wanted since, like, forever. What do you think it means? How long do you think it's been happening?"

"The kiss?"

"No, moron, the ... whatever the habit of kissing each other? The getting back together? Do you think they're back together? What was it like? Tell me everything."

Forrest feels like he's jumping out of his skin. He's wanted his parents back together practically since he met his second dad in London that first time last summer.

"I don't know. I didn't stand there watching. Don't be disgusting. I turned and fled before they heard footsteps and saw me."

"OK you're right. But let's figure this out. Do you think they're back together? Or is it just a, I don't know, mistake?"

"How the hell should I know? But you can't ask them. You mustn't even hint at it, Forrest. You promised."

"OK, OK. I won't. But just ... brainstorm with me. What do you think is going on?"

"I ... I don't know. I mean they were outside under a tree. Seems fairly spontaneous. Maybe it was the first time it's happened?"

"That makes sense. I mean they do have separate rooms, and not even next door to each other. If they'd been planning on getting together behind our backs, they would have set it up differently."

"Yeah and they have seemed to be getting on better than usual on this trip."

"Not that they fight usually," Forrest interjects, suddenly defensive.

"No, but they can be ... awkward with each other sometimes. Especially at Christmas, remember?"

"Totally. They never seemed to want to do stuff with us at the same time that vacation. It was better at home, maybe because there's more space. Even at your apartment they were sort of do-si-doing around each other." 

"Right. But my point is that they have acted very relaxed around each other this holiday. So it follows that they'd perhaps decide to give it a go."

"So what do we do?"

"We don't do _anything_."

"But, like, we have to encourage them, even if we don't do anything out loud."

"How do you mean?"

"We'll be together again in June, right? At Uncle Kit's place in France? So let's make ourselves scarce as much as we can. Ask Uncle Kit to take us out places or whatever. He'll help out, right?"

"Perhaps. He does seem a bit suspicious of Dad though, of your dad, I mean."

"He does? That's not fair!" Forrest pouts.

His other dad, Hugh's first dad, Oliver, Eames, whatever, he was the one who left them, after all. Of course Forrest's dad, his first dad, had explained to Forrest that it was really his fault and that he should have gone after Eames and apologized. Forrest still doesn't know exactly what happened, but his dad had been incredibly serious and somber when he explained that he had lied to Eames and that the fight that broke them up was his fault. Forrest doesn't like to think about what that means, because it could be that his dad had cheated and he desperately doesn't want that to be true. It would explain Uncle Kit being suspicious though.

"It's just a feeling I get whenever these vacations come up around Kit. Father says he's very a very protective older brother."

"Which one of us is older anyway?" Forrest asks, suddenly distracted.

"Search me."

"I'll ask tomorrow. Maybe they don't know. Do you think they were there in the delivery room when we were born?"

"I don't know why they would have wanted to be. That's disgusting. We watched a film in school that showed it. If it's your wife I suppose you have to be there, but why would they have wanted to watch that with some stranger?"

"Maybe they couldn't wait to meet us, even if we were all gross."

They fall asleep in their clothes still brainstorming how to give their parents plenty of opportunity to be alone together in France.

The next morning at breakfast it takes every ounce of Forrest's inner strength to keep from smirking and winking and generally acting like he's sitting on a secret. But Hugh gives him a _very_ stern look and he stays on his best behavior. It probably means Hugh is the older brother, but Forrest forgets to ask until it's too late and they're rushing to the airport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really wanted to end the story with the boys planning mischief, since that's the way it started. I know that kind of cuts out an ending where they're all actually living together as a family again, so I'm thinking I might do a short sequel at some point. I'd also maybe half like to do something with Arthur and Eames' private weekend meetup one of these days.


End file.
